Impression
by combustible lemons
Summary: -
1. Preface: Impressions

He had been told that anguish was for the weak, those who wore their feeble hearts on their sleeves for all to see. He was not Herculean despite his new features, a burden all in itself. Was he one that wore that trodden heart on his sleeve, or had that all been lost?

The boy in question had a secret, as most of those who were stuck in the same situation as he. The ambiguous, 'restricted' secret was kept under wraps by those only who were involved with said persons or were one themselves. Though shrouded in mystery, those who were familiar with the mythical world pick out the ones with the gift, the oh-so scornful passed-down-through-the-generations endowment. It was a talent not normally prominent in his parts of Washington, although the state itself was a fictitious minefield. Whimsically said, it was the gathering grounds for the legendary beings.

The tale had been told throughout the years as just that, a tale. If you were put in a similar situation, would you believe a story that was riddled with scandalous myths of beasts and the entities of old: vampires? Like most of the children who were told the supposedly cock-and-bull story, it sent creepy crawlers up their spines, yet did not disrupt the fanciful glimmer in their adolescent eyes. The behemoth 'wolf men' faring against satanic parasites, otherwise known as bloodsuckers.

It was told to only those who resided in the land that was recently named La Push. Those who heard the fable imagined it as a kind of parable that sought to teach the young descendants a moral. (Though most hadn't a clue why a story of supposed mythical ones would teach them a lesson, and if it did, an albeit twisted version of what one may be)

The boy, Seth Clearwater, had heard this same story.

At the soft age of eleven, it had been depicted to him, and there on for seven years afterward. When hearing the story through his teenage reign, it was considered a 'lie' or in the words of his teenage self, "a _fucking _lie", the swear quite needed, for all intents and purposes.

But he did not think it a lie anymore, as he had been one who retained the ability to transform into one of the wolf men himself. He had been one of those fortunate enough to acquire the aptitude through the tainted bloodline, a permanent mark on his biological record.

And though he was one of those with the gift, he had not been told all of its secrets. In essence, that was not the most visionary thing the Council of La Push had ever done, another permanent mark on Seth Clearwater's biological record.

* * *

"Clearwater!"

Seth was used to being called by his surname, especially by the infamous Sam Uley. He supposed that he was simply bitter, but he'd never admit that to anyone other than his conscious.

"Clearwater, why in God's name don't you have a phone?"

It wasn't normal for Sam to be so frazzled-sounding, Seth mused, but then again, he didn't really care. Now Seth wasn't normally so bad-tempered, but when Sam came into question, Seth's mood significantly clouded. That may or may not have to do with Sam's unscrupulous break-up with his sister, but I'll leave that for you to discern.

Footsteps on stairs: _Bitch is using my stairs, _Seth grumbled.

The door to his room flew open unceremoniously, giving way to Sam, looking as frazzled as his voice had implied. Seth stood and brushed off his pants.

"What?"

Sam raised one eyebrow at the tone of Seth's voice, but decided that right now was not the time for obedience training. _Damn pups_.

"Did you not get a call from Billy Black? Apparently Charlie Swan's daughter has gone missing." he explained.

"And?"

"We are going to look for her." The resonance of Sam's delivered sentence had 'no nonsense' stamped all over it, much to Seth's chagrin. He concluded that he had better not disobey and gave Sam a half-assed nod.

"Where is she exactly?" he asked, reaching over to his bed to grab his jacket. He reasoned beforehand that going out in the middle of fall without some kind of cover for the cold would cause unnecessary talk, so he did not want to push his luck.

"In the forest behind Charlie's house. Since it's just rained, her scent's probably long gone, so we're flying blind."

"How _wonderful_, Sam. I'll go waste my time now." He ascended to his feet and hurried out the door, partially due to Sam's rage and partially due to his inability to withstand being in the same room as the rodent. He couldn't exactly help his feelings for the man, right?

He donned his leather jacket, giving the too-short sleeves a glare. All of his clothes had been impossible since his induced transformation. Seth was not from a wealthy family, so this was a gigantic problem that he had yet to deal with.

"Probably get hand me downs from Quil," he muttered under his breath. As he shut the front door to his house, he got hit with a wave of misty vapor. Spluttering, he wiped a hand over his face and then wrung it out promptly. _This is not my lucky day, _he thought.

He stuck his hands in his pocket and started walking. Dark rain clouds peppered the skies, weeping out rain. Rain meant a clean slate. A clean slate meant he had nothing to use to search for the chief's daughter. _How fitting that I would get this shitty luck, or lack thereof. _

His steps had turned into childish stomps on the pavement. An sizzle of anger throbbed from behind his temples, as it always seemed to do lately when he became aggravated. It was now a daily thing for him to become irate. No longer did he have the slightest control over his emotions; they flowed all by themselves, and that did not deter his sentiments.

He was cursed now, as were all the others.

The realization had yet to settle in Seth's mind. He was used to his undeniable freedom, which he often took for granted. He couldn't go out and do what he wanted now. That had long been flushed down the irreversible drain along with his other hopes and dreams.

He was nearing the border of the vegetation, which was covered in a fine amount of slimy rain. An exasperated grunt left his lips as he shrugged his way passed the various leaves, bushes, and growth. He had deliberately remained in his human state due to his dislike of all the scents and smells of the forest. They were too much, and often made him nauseated. Even though his sense of smell was far advanced in his usual form, at times it could be practically suffocating.

He stumbled on the vines and various plant life and stubbed his toes on mismatched rocks. In spite of the elders' praises of the werewolves' grace, Seth did not feel very graceful as he tripped and blundered through the wilderness.

It felt like forever and longer before he finally got somewhere, which, all in all, did not feel like _somewhere. _In fact, it felt exactly like the last clearing he had trudged through (and fallen through, I might add).

He got a whiff of a more human smell, but his high spirits had dropped once he got the undertone of it: vampire rank.

_Must be the girl then._

He pushed back a low branch (which had conveniently slapped him in the face afterward) and spotted a form sitting in the middle of two large trees. He sighed in annoyance and marched forward, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Found you."


	2. I: Thirty and Seven

A thousand white spots seemed to explode in his vision before he regained his composure, shoulders shaking like he was experiencing a seizure.

His throat had long ago constricted, leaving him parched and gagging. He coughed once to clear his air waves and flinched backwards, as if the girl had a disgusting smell. The way she was looking at him, _God_, it made him want to throw up. Her expression, the curve of her brows, the slight twitch of her eyes; he could not bare it, he _would not _bare it.

In that one second, he had felt undeniably filled, like he _belonged_, but then his common sense kicked in, along with the blood flowing in his legs. He was up and several feet away before the girl could even see, much less comprehend.

Seth held his hands up, forcing them to stop shaking. They yearned to touch the girl, hold her in his arms, but he would not let his primitive desires cripple him. They would not lay heavy on his heart and mind like his other insecurities. Not while he still breathed.

His eyes traced over the girl's features, doting on the eyes. "Kid, are you... Bella? Bella Swan?" Damn his voice for shaking so badly.

"Why does it matter?" she countered drearily, rubbing at her eyes with her muddied hands.

"Because," Seth snapped, "I'm supposed to be looking for her! Just cut the crap and tell me your name!"

"Yes, I'm Bella Swan," she replied, fresh tears flowing down her face. Seth wet his lips to distract himself from the deep pang he felt in his heart.

"Kid, come with me, all right? Your dad's been pretty damn frantic about finding you, so come on." Seth coaxed, slowly stepping forward, legs feeling like lead. He held out an arm.

Slowly and deliberately, she grasped his hand and he yanked her up. "You're making a goddamn fool of yourself out here. I mean, _Jesus_, you'll get pneumonia if you're out here too long."

As he pulled her along, she let out little sniffles here and there, only furthering his annoyance, but he dealt with it internally. She was obviously upset and him yelling at her wasn't going to make anything better. He opted in comforting her.

"Kid, whatever happened to you isn't so bad." he attempted, feeling immensely awkward.

"You don't know." she quipped, grief-stricken.

"I do know that it isn't good enough to be sitting outside _in the forest _while it's pouring down buckets! Being sad is one thing but your health is another!" he objected, using his free hand to wipe the rain out of his eyes.

"Maybe I don't care about my health."

Seth whirled, glaring into her eyes sternly. "Kid, I don't know why you're like this, but lighten the hell up! Being suicidal isn't gonna get us anywhere, me especially! I just want to get you home and then go back to sleeping in my room."

She was immediately angered. "Why did you even bother to come?"

"I was ordered to."

She scoffed. "Ordered?"

Seth bared his teeth. "Are you deaf _and _suicidal?" She ignored the jab and asked rhetorically, "Can't you just not follow your 'orders'?"

"You don't know anything." he bit back. "Try rejecting your responsibilities when it's your goddamn world!"

She frowned, more tears trailing down her cheeks. Or perhaps it was just the rain, Seth did not know.

"I do know what you mean," she responded, voice unnaturally soft, "but it doesn't matter now. I'm not looking for an argument."

Seth turned, jerking her along even faster than before. "Whatever you say, Kid."

He could feel her discomfort. "Why do you insist on calling me that? I told you my name, didn't I?"

Glad that she temporarily forgot her anguish, he said over his shoulder, "I find it more fitting, and there isn't much you can do to stop me."

"What a way to greet someone," she retorted. He shrugged and helped her over a rough bit in the undergrowth before releasing her hand, running his own through his shaggy hair to get it out of his eyes. His gaze landed on the white finish of a house.

"That's your place?" he wondered, one eyebrow arched at the house. She nodded her affirmative. "Yes." She turned to him, one side of her lips quirked upwards in a half-hearted smile. "Thank you for... for finding me."

He bobbed his head. "Yeah, you're so grateful, I feel like a thousand bucks. Go, Kid."

She swept the screen back and entered, taking off her jacket. The loud calls of "Bella!" made Seth smile slightly. He was glad he had found her, but a little... uncomfortable at what had been felt (by him) after her founding. He rocked on his heels for a while, hands back in his jacket pockets. Unusually at a loss for words, he began the journey to La Push, preferring to walk rather than run.

Why had he been so utterly devoted to her for one brief spell. It was as if he had taken a fresh breath of air after a long time underwater. It had been so real for him, and yet it settled uneasily in the pit of his stomach. He did not like feeling this. He did not want it. Seth Clearwater was (not now, anymore) a free bird, inexplicably drawn in by the no-strings-attached way of life. These encompassing emotions weighed down on him and he didn't like them one bit. He was confoundedly manipulated by whatever controlled the universe.

_Not my lucky day at _all_._

He was unmistakably the one who received the short end of the stick in every instance. This was nothing new to him, but _God _he was wiped out. Everything was just... sucking... Bashfully.

"That should be my sales pitch," Seth spat humorlessly to himself.

"Seth, good job!" Quil praised him, clapping his back in some kind of brotherly affection. Seth rubbed his face with his hands and looked at Quil through the gap between his fingers.

"I've heard enough of that bull. Can't you all just settle the hell down?" His voice was malicious and undoubtedly harsh, but Seth didn't care. He was absolutely tired of the pack's praise, even more so than he had been of the elders'. They couldn't just _let it go _and see that he did not want the attention. He wanted to sleep, but they kept stopping him with their adoration.

"Shit dude, settle your ass down," Quil smiled. "Can't you deal with my flattery like all straight men do?"

"Maybe that's why you keep getting those looks from the dudes at school," Seth countered sinisterly, a smart smile on his lips. Quil scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest.

"I'll have you know that they deny their homosexuality, but are nonetheless kind to me despite it."

"You should start denying yours too, then, 'cause it's getting pretty obvious, my friend." Seth barked, showing just the top row of his teeth in his megawatt smile. Quil rolled his eyes and sat down next to his friend, leaning his elbows on the table.

"All right, I won't congratulate you anymore, but you haven't said much about the Swan girl. Why was she out there?" Quil slipped into a tone that was substantially concerned, as he always did when things were serious.

Seth decided to elude the question. "Why are you suddenly so adamant about knowing about the girl? Aren't you bound eternally to a two year old?"

Quil sneered. "I'm not _bound _to her."

Seth grinned antagonistically. "Oh? You just love to change her diapers, don't you? It makes you both so much closer... emotionally."

Quil's hands clenched above the tabletop. "Fuck off, dude. I'm just trying to fuckin' help you but you really don't want it, do you?"

Seth shook his head. "Not really, but the attempt was fairly entertaining." He leaned closer, lips pulling back in a twisted snarl. "So the sex is good?"

Quil's fist slammed right into Seth's face with a thunderous impact, but Seth didn't seem fazed from where he sat, which was now consequently on the floor. He wiped his bloodied lips, eyes trained on the fluid and tasting the blooming iron in his mouth. He had mildly expected such a response, and was pleased to know he was one hundred percent correct in his theory.

"Been working out?" he chuckled, rising to his feet, his jaw moving in the attempt to get the feeling back in his jaw muscles. "Biceps and triceps, _totally man_!"

Quil wrung out his throbbing hand. "You've got the hardest damn face, dude. Do you keep your nuts in there?"

Seth beamed proudly. "That's why they call me nutcracker."

"Ah, _now _I get how the whole male gay population at school speak so fondly about ya."

Seth shrugged. "You know me."

They both paused, their eyes meeting. Seth apologized mutely to his friend, and Quil's slight twitch of his lips signified his acceptance. "Don't joke about it, Seth. I hate having to tend to a freaking toddler enough as it is."

Seth reclaimed his seat and wiped his hands and mouth with a napkin, then proceeded to stop the gush of claret from his nostrils with it. He looked sideways at Quil, wetting his lips in preparation for his next question. "So you don't like hanging around Claire all the time?"

Quil shook his head. "The opposite, dude. Her parents think I'm her always-available babysitter, so when I'm on a date with Olivia she becomes a royal pain in the ass. My parents don't help either since they think I should be waiting for Claire to grow up. If I do that, who the hell am I supposed to think of when I've got a hard on? Just jack off to a two year old? That's sick."

Seth laughed boisterously, only assisting his nosebleed. "I see wha you bean," he snickered, his clogged nose disfiguring his articulation. Quil looked at him and winced.

"Sorry."

"I'b okay," Seth shook the apology away. "It'll stop soon."

Quil lowered his voice, leaning forward a little. "So, tell me about Swan."

* * *

Bella sat on her bed, knees pulled up to her chest, head resting on them. The open window wasn't helping with the room temperature, but the incessant chill distracted her from the voices she heard from downstairs. They were all the same. The tone... the questions... All the same, and that wasn't helping anything. She was already bored of the first round of questions, and yet the people who asked them couldn't quite get it through their thick skulls that she was _fine_. She wasn't dying, nor was she going to, so why did they have to stay?

They were all worried. She didn't care.

All she wanted was peace and quiet. Apparently that was too much to ask from a bunch of parents and friends of her father that she hardly knew on the level of acquaintance. Was it even logical for them to be here? They couldn't just pick up the phone?

_But that wouldn't be right_, she rationalized, _in a small town like this. Everyone has to be connected in some way, however idiotic that may be. _

She let out a loud sigh and laid out on her bed, hands behind her head. She stared at the ceiling, breathing evenly. She had already the brunt of her emotional meltdown, and would not lower herself to have another. She was partially comprehending that the Cullens were gone, but it had yet to sink in fully. She tried telling herself over and over that they were really gone, and it seemed to work somewhat, but it still hurt regardless.

_They're gone. Get used to it._

She closed her eyes, enjoying the blackness it offered to her. The voices from downstairs had subsided, and only the sound of her father's footsteps on the stairs greeted her ears. There was a knock on the door, to which she immediately answered. Her father stepped into the room, shuffling awkwardly forward, as if he had a stick up his ass.

"Bella," he said gruffly. She opened one eye, waiting patiently for him to continue his sentence. He fumbled for the words before sighing loudly and sitting unceremoniously on her bed. "Listen, now that the Cullens are gone, I was wondering if you would want to... y'know, go back and live with your mom?"

She expected this, and frowned. There was some part of her that wanted to hold onto the memories, a part that wanted to await Edward's return and whisk her away to a fairytale. But this was reality, and she needed to realize it.

"I can't just leave school." she found herself replying. "But maybe after this year is over... I could go back."

Charlie nodded. "If that's what you want."

"I do." she said, her eyes drifting back up to the ceiling. Charlie looked at his hands in his lap before raising his head, adding, "You never told me how you got back. Did someone find you?"

She closed her eyes. "Yes. Someone found me."

* * *

Quil waited expectantly, eyes alight with curiosity. Seth met his steady look and pulled the napkin away form his nose, face fixing into a scowl. He didn't want to talk about this. Anything involving his utterly fucked destiny set badly in his mind.

"Why do you care?" he demanded. "It's not like I'm bursting with secrets."

Quil raised his brows. "Just tell me."

He rolled his eyes and wiped the left over blood from his nose. "She was really... spaced out when I found her. D'you know what I mean? It's like she was having an out-of-body experience."

Quil looked skeptical. "I don't know the look."

Seth shrugged. "Whatever. She just looked fuckin' _out there. _Anyways, when I turned her around... she... I got this weird feeling."

"Like?" his friend prompted.

"I guess it's a bit like you and Claire...." he grumbled, standing and throwing away the napkin. He sat back down and turned to Quil, who had a faraway glint in his eyes. He suddenly bore into Seth, jaw set.

"You mean you imprinted?"

Seth started in surprise. "What the hell is that?"

Quil sighed sadly. "Aw, shit. Well, it's –" He paused, seeming to have an epiphany of sorts. He slammed his hands down on the table and spun to face Seth. His mouth opened, closed, and then he finally got the courage to ask, "What's your girlfriend gonna say?"

* * *

Yes, Seth is cruel on purpose. It will factor in later. Thank the weather for this chapter, cuz I wouldn't have written and posted it if there wasn't a snow day.


	3. II: We're Underwater

"What do you mean, Quil?" Seth demanded after a moment, cocking an eyebrow skyward. "How does this have anything to do with her?" The mere mention of his _girlfriend _sent pleasurable little shivers down his spine, but he had disregarded the feeling and paid rapt attention to his friend. Quil, seeming upset, stood and began pacing.

"Dude, this is serious shit," he said, crossing his arms over his chest as he walked.

"It doesn't seem that serious when you add in the word 'shit', Quil. Just tell me what imprinting is." Seth ordered. Quil looked to the ceiling as if to find the answer there and then his gaze lowered. His unsteady look did not bring peace to Seth's ever-fluttering mind.

"Imprinting is a pretty simple thing," Quil began, "And it's perfectly natural... if you're a wolf, that is." He paused to gather his thoughts. "You know why I'm so connected to Claire? It's because of imprinting, which, dumbed down, means finding your soul mate."

Seth was puzzled. A soul mate did not seem so appealing to him, especially when he was involved with another girl. And moreover, he didn't even _like _Kid. He did not want to be her soul mate, or _anyone's_ soul mate, for that matter. He did not believe in such atrocities, no matter what the legends of his culture stated. He knew bull when he saw it, and he daren't think of it longer than needed. If he had the strength to withstand changing into a goddamn monster, he would not allow himself to fall victim to a 'soul mate'.

"That's a load of shit, if I ever saw one," he commented, smiling crookedly. Quil threw him an apprehensive glare.

"I've felt it, dude. It's like nothin' I've ever encountered. And you have felt it, too, haven't you?"

Seth shook his head. "I felt like I was going to fucking throw up, if that's what you're implying."

Quil laughed bitterly. "Yeah, right. You know you enjoyed the one second that wasn't making you up-chuck."

Seth was floored. He had to admit, for one brief moment, everything was significantly clearer in his mindset. All of it. Just for a second. The mere thought only ignited Seth's aggravation. His temper was reaching the breaking point.

"I'm not bulimic, Quil," he retorted, unsuccessfully, I might add. Quil rolled his eyes and sat back down next to Seth. "It's not like you can't resist it, Seth. I did. I am."

"But I know you're a pussy. You'll give in, and so will I, 'cause I can't control myself."

Quil sighed, exasperated. "The only reason you'll give in is if you keep thinkin' that it's the end of the world if you do. Just go along like you normally do, and you'll see where it takes ya."

"Save the motivational poster for a nerd who actually reads them, Quil." Seth snapped. "You don't know what you're talking about."

Quil shrugged nonchalantly. "Whatever you say, Seth."

Seth bit down on his tongue to stop the verbal lashing he was about to ensure Quil received, and attempted to lower his pulsating anger. He wasn't sure what instilled his sudden mood change, but it was apparently making him doubt himself. He didn't doubt himself. He only trusted himself. Everyone else were liars, just like Quil. That's just how he was, and that only attributed to his personality, giving others the impression that he was a cruel, rude, and overall sarcastic young man who did not know the world until he experienced it. But they were the liars.

"Spare me your dismissive attitude, Quil. I don't need that on my shoulders either."

Quil laughed, much more condescendingly than before. "So you've got a lot on your plate, eh? Tell me what those things are exactly, Seth. What? Don't give me that look. What's so wrong with your life other than the fact that you're a mythical beast? Huh, you have the most easy-going mom on the planet, you have a sister that completely avoids you and doesn't do anything to any of your belongings... You've got your own truck to go wherever you please, a simple job that pays minimum wage, and a scholarship waiting in the wings once you're out of high school. You've got a girlfriend who knows our legends and isn't that worried about 'em. Okay, yeah, you imprinted on the Swan chick, but what does that even have to do with anything? You can resist, can't ya? Or do you not believe in yourself enough? Pretty damn weak, if you ask me." His smile widened. "And, to my knowledge, the Swan chick isn't bad to look at either. Am I right?"

"I'm _this _close to knocking your head off your shoulders, Quil. _This close_." Seth threatened, instinctively flexing his fingers. Quil shrugged his broad shoulders, that goddamn smirk playing on his lips. "Cry me a fuckin' river, Seth. You don't have it bad."

"And you do?"

Quil shook his head. "Never said I did. Too quick to assume, eh?"

Seth breathed slowly through his nostrils, slamming an imaginative hand down on his writhing fury. His eyes flashed. "You are acting as if you know everything, Quil. Where'd the sudden intuition come from? Is there a 'Dummies' Guide' to it?" He bared his teeth. "But then again, I'm _assuming_ very _slowly _that you own all of the copies.

"And I know you think that you're so high above me – like you've got the upper hand in this battle of wits. I'm not disputing that, but rather, I'm _impressed_. And partially flattered. Why, I haven't had a decent argument in such a long time! Perhaps I forgot when I went along with my substantially simple life. You know, the same one that you pretty much have, except, well, the girls in my life are much more attractive than your wee little Claire-y-poo!"

The familiar comfort of completely pissing someone off settled easily in the pit of Seth's stomach, and he regained his confidence due to it. "Olivia knows about her, right? That you imprinted on a two-year-old? Why, it's almost considered some degree of pedophilia, in essence. Get grabby when it's diapee time?"

He dodged the strong punch Quil threw and locked his hand around the man's wrist, pulling him down with equal strength. "I hope you wash your hands afterward, y'know, when you're running your hands through Olivia's hair. Or perhaps that's why she has such _dark _mahogany locks. Do you call it Valentine's Day chocolate?"

"Shut your fuckin' mouth, Seth!" Quil rumbled. "This is why I can't stand you."

Seth pouted his lips mockingly. "Such terrible words, Quil. But who's the bastard who stands being around me? Eh? You."

"I said shut your fuckin' mouth!" Quil repeated angrily, tugging on his wrist. His other hand collided with Seth's jaw, but he didn't feel it. He was far too enraptured in getting his revenge on Quil, who, suffice to say, wasn't his friend anymore. _Why does that sound like I'm in fourth grade? _Seth questioned himself comically, smiling devilishly at Quil, who looked fit to kill.

"Why do you contradict yourself, Quil?" he demanded. "You are so protective whenever I talk about that stupid toddler. It's ridiculous."

"It's instinct." Quil spat. "I can't help it."

"So you _are _a pussy!" Seth laughed. "I never woulda guessed!" Then, quieter, he continued, "But really, Quil, Old Buddy, Old Pal, why is it that you can't stand anyone, me especially, talking about her? Hmm? Is it because you value your _soul mate _more than you let on? I am severely hurt, Quil, that you would lie to me! Lies, deceit, deception! It's tearing me apart!"

"Fuck you, fuck you, _fuck you_," Quil chanted, ripping his wrist away from Seth's grasp. "You are sick, Seth."

"I believe it's H1N1," Seth supplied, coughing mockingly into the crook of his elbow. "Got me all in a tizzy."

"And messed with any or all coherent thought you've ever had."

Seth rolled his eyes. "Call me crazy."

"Gladly," Quil roared, stomping across the room and out the front door.

Seth waited a few moments before chuckling childishly.

* * *

Hours later, Seth sat at the foot of his bed, back against the board. In one hand he held a small basketball, which he had been continually shooting hoops through the small, equally sized hoop on his door. One would say that Seth was conflicted, but he die before he admitted that he was regretful. He was aware, almost frighteningly so, of how he treated Quil, the only friend he had other than his girlfriend.

Yes, he was regretful.

What he had said to Quil was despicable, but Quil had been so asinine in his attempts to tell Seth of his seemingly normal life and agenda. Quil had deserved it, or in Seth's opinion he had. Although Seth had been friends with Quil for several years, he could not bring himself to call, meet up, or even text Quil a bemused apology, as he normally would when they had their manly hissy fits.

Was he too proud or too ignorant? Most likely an even mixture of both.

Which was, logically spoken, not a good combination. _At all_.


	4. III: Hannibal

I received a message about some petition on M rated fics. To my knowledge they're getting pulled, correct? Not that I'm all that worried, but I signed it regardless. You should too. Jump on the bandwagon! Check out ShortBritches85's profile, etc, etc. Review to the petition, etc, etc.

* * *

In the very south eastern end of La Push, there is a court house. This court house is old, marginally rusted, and outdated. The upholstery has long been rotted; the wooden chairs withered; the ceiling cracked and dusty.

In this court house, despite its outward appearance, is where the entirety of La Push's decisions are made. Though the rally for its rebuilding had long ago been vetoed, it still stood with an air of authority. The bricks that held up its frame were oh-so intimidating to the naked eye, along with the high pillars that stood with undying nostalgia.

Generations of packs and their children have ruled with an iron fist in the white halls of its insides. The public (those without the genetic impurity in their line) always wondered why officials were never elected to the top of the political food chain. Never had there been a vote in which they decided who sat at the highest peak of the township.

They opted to believe that if those who made all the decisions did a good job with it, then it was not their problem. An arrogance had struck deep in their black hearts, and they disregarded it with a firm anchor. They were simple-minded, you see. Their utterances went unnoticed as time flew by them, and the officials stayed where they always had. At the top. The paramount of their counterproductive lives. (If they couldn't get past the town's government, what made them think they could move upwards to something in a higher degree, stately perhaps?)

The 'head' of the town's government was a man name William Black, or as the country bumpkin towns folk knew him as: Billy Black.

But what is a government without a figurehead?

The _real _man behind the mischief was an inept man of the name Desmond Bly, a caricature of a strong-willed, accepted councilman. He had been wed to a woman that he long since despised, along with two children that he wasn't the slightest bit proud of. In reality, he was the only one he admired, and that would never change, no matter how saggy his skin got or how many numbers time swept unto him.

Did he tell distorted truths? Oh, of course, as he should! The county did not need to hear what the actuality of everyday situations were... Those were only reserved and befitting to the council, not the snippy little populous he had grown to hate. But what did Desmond Bly adore? Why, you must have guessed it, _power_. In his decrepit hand, he held what he always desired since he was just a young lad: the aptitude to control others as he saw fit. Now, the other councilmen were not aware of his intentions, but then again, who would be? Who would assume that a stocky old man had such nefarious longings?

Not the rather dense congregation, I'll have you know.

Except for one.

* * *

Seth stormed into the mid-morning air, the screeching sun sending his red-brown skin to gold. Hands at his sides, he moved with the least bit of grace to his truck, which had rusted over before he was born. He clambered inside and slammed the door shut. The tight seat belt was taut against his chest, but he ignored whatever he had felt. In his rush for answers, he had omitted such details. He had experienced a dizzying epiphany once he had awoken from his reverence-induced haze of sleep, and vowed that if he did not know the answers, then he would fine those who did. And he would get his answers.

But he had not fit in his impulsive behavior into the equation. His mind had neglected to inform him of his impetuous manner, as it always seemed to do when he needed it most.

When his truck rolled to a stop in front of the aged tribunal, he leaped out of its confines and stomped up the steps, the boiling anger in his chest ceasing to quit. Wrenching the doors open, Seth crossed the tan carpeting and rolled his way into the inner court, mouth scrunched into a fine grimace.

The old men, all who were nearing their late fifties except for one Billy Black, turned to him, their eyes alight in dulled rage, as if they had seen so many things in their pitiful existences that nothing was quite enough to anger them fully. They all wore an expression that was equivalent to a mask of hindered fury, but that did nothing to stop one Seth Clearwater's tirade.

His young legs carried him to the center of a circle in which the councilmen sat around him in high-backed chairs. He wondered idly if they wore powdered wigs when no one was around.

Wetting his chapped lips, he said aloud, "It's pretty obvious that I've got some questions."

Desmond Bly, as uptight as he was, clenched his elderly fists with partial strength. His tongue clicked listlessly in his rotted mouth. Lips pulled back in an acute sign of repressed animosity, and he leaned forward.

"What are your questions?" He found himself clever for his words, as the other councilmen would have demanded what answers the youth wanted in particular. Clever, indeed.

Seth narrowed his caramel eyes. "I only want answers for my questions, not your noise."

Desmond shook his head slowly. "What makes you think that you deserve that level of respect, boy?"

Seth rolled his tongue around in his mouth before speaking in a voice so like his late father's. "I am related to this council, as are most of the pack. Either a relative has been in this tribunal or one of us ourselves. We are deserving of the answers we question, are we not?"

Desmond was not amused. "You are not."

Seth bared his teeth. "Bitter, are we, Bly? Harboring some composed feelings? Isn't it such a downer that your generation was skipped? That we, the children, received the gift while you did not?"

"I will not argue with you about something that is not liable to this court." Desmond said, folding his hands. Seth nodded curtly.

"I expected as much from you, Bly."

Malek Savst, Paul's uncle, a man who would die from either a heart attack or Seth's own hand in five months time, inclined forward. "What questions do you have, Clearwater?"

"Tell me, councilmen, what secrets have you kept from the pack?"


	5. IV: Vices Like Vipers

_Insanity, _Seth mused, _is not something I'm far from experiencing, or have I already fallen into that deep, dark pit of despair?  
_

His eyebrows were a straight line. His expression, or lack thereof, was not visible in the midst of the councilmen's beady stares. The heat of the same stares burned righteous holes into Seth's body, like a rash. But he stayed firm, knowing that these reedy old men were nothing compared to what he possessed. Their old bones were no longer strong enough to withstand one smack of his hand, one pricking of his thumbs, one inconsequential blow to their physique.

Hurting them would be useless. They were no challenge to Seth's prowess, and they would never be. Not even in their best of shape could they have even scratched his steel-like skin. If Seth could turn the clock back forty years, they would still be no match for him. No one was.

His sly lips curved into a mischievous grin, almost dauntingly so. The councilmen shivered in their seats, some not even daring to question the youth's stride. But, nonetheless, they were _still _the ones with power, the ones who could bring torment to Seth's life.

But even that was unlikely to happen, as Seth could snap all of their necks before they realized it.

The grin turned despicably harsh, and Desmond's sweat dropped.

* * *

School was tough for Bella to endure, especially with the looks her so-called friends gave her. Did she want pity? No, never. She had yet to taste its foul bitterness, and would never want to. But even then, she tasted something rotten on the very back of her tongue. _This was pity_.

_It's not like anyone's died, _she thought quietly, _so why do they act as if my mother just passed away? Knock on wood._

She licked her lips nervously, bringing her drink to her lips. Her eyes met the curious stares, the unpredictable oaths of benevolence. They were too enraptured to look away, yet were too proud to halt their desire for gossip.

_Scandalous, _she accused.

It was as if everyone in the immediate vicinity were looking down upon her. Even the teachers, those who were _taught _(how ironic) not to stare. Couldn't they just... _stop_? Where was the self-respect? Were they not aware of their own pitiful looks? How their eyes bored into her body like sun spots. She detested it, detested _them_, but there was nothing she could do to cease their looks. Only their own intelligence could assist her, and _that _was so wholly limited.

_How sad_, she contemplated tetchily, _that their parents couldn't teach them one ounce of grandeur, or by God, etiquette. But I don't suppose that in this town that any of the parents are clever enough to fathom dignity. But perhaps my standards are too high... compared to everyone's morals. _

She twisted the cap on her drink, wetting her lips almost in sentimentality. _I used to be fond of them. Even the girls with the bleached blonde hair who, in actuality, are boring, brown-haired girls like myself. I suppose that _I'm _the one who's had their mind leached, instead of them, with the chemicals sitting heavily on their miniscule brains._

_Or maybe the little emo kids sitting in the corner, mourning their not-so-bad life. Or even the muscle heads, who can't seem to get the masculinity out of their one-thought process. Or the art girls, drawing anime like they haven't another purpose, or the band geeks, or the popular kids, or the cheerleaders, or the skateboarders, or the nerds, or _all _of high school. I used to be fond of them. I used to be _one _of them._

_I used to be fond of their stereotypes. _

_I used to be fond of him, with his twentieth century romance. The glamor, how fitting, but then again, I was never one for glamor. Bring on the family dinners, the arguments of no appropriate topic, just listing off ones own thought processes. Where is the simplicity? Where is the life?_

_Where did my life go?

* * *

_

"Apparently the stories at the beach weren't enough to satisfy my own curious nature," Seth said, running his pink tongue over his white teeth. "It wasn't enough to become my own nightmare's fullest monster, but to become it and not _know _what it involved is even worse. Secrets of undeniable importance were kept from us, the ones with the curse running through our blood. Did you keep them from us because you wanted to have something we did not? Not being a monster wasn't enough for any of you, was it?"

Billy sneered. "We kept the secrets from you for your own protection."

"I sure feel protected now after I found out that my life is connected to another. I don't particularly enjoy discovering that, Billy. How would you?"

"I would accept it." the old man spat with venom.

"Because you never got to be the monster," Seth smirked. "It's not as fun as you may assume, Billy. I can never get too angry. I have to control myself when I just want to blow my goddamn top. I have a cretinous hunger that will probably force my mother to get a second job, along with myself. There is _always _the urge behind my temples to go run and be free, Billy. But I can't have that, not while La Push is left unprotected from imaginary foes."

"Hold your tongue, boy," Desmond rumbled, "Complaining about things that cannot go unchanged will not grant your questions answers. Get to the point or get out. It is your choice, Clearwater. Use what little brain power you have and get on with it."

Seth narrowed his eyes, his lips pulling back as well. The tips of his lips curled upwards in a monstrous display of beastly fury. His chest shuddered with unmistakable savagery. His body felt so much hotter, like he was sitting on the motherfucking sun. A shiver of acrimony propelled up his spine in a dangerous display of lack of all control.

"Don't push your luck, Bly," he whispered, "'cause I can't really hold my shape that well anymore."

Desmond shuffled his paper with an air of disdain. "I've noticed, Clearwater. You only continue to prove how daft you actually are. Senselessness is one of your more down sloping qualities, is it not? Just like your father. A pitiful excuse for a man, really. I'm not surprised that he hadn't died earlier, you know."

Something like a scream echoed around the hall, pounding in the old men's ears, shattering their hearing aids and causing their pacemakers to stutter in their electrical current. A cold kind of regret dripped into Desmond's soul without pause. He suddenly felt his oxygen cut off as a heavy weight encompassed around his thick neck. He opened his eyes, finding himself face to face with Seth Clearwater, who was perched imperiously on Desmond's side of the high podium.

The boy's right arm was fully transformed into something more animalistic. Claws dug into Desmond's fat scruff without any remorse. He stared into the boy's eyes, noting that they were not their normal caramel color, but rather a striking yellow. A beast's eyes.

Seth's mouth opened, displaying hideously sharp canines, poised with wolfish grace. His bright, undeniably yellow eyes widened in something akin to pleasure, or the thrill of the hunt. "My father... was everything I had wanted to be." His sharp fangs distorted his enunciation slightly, but Seth did not seem to care. "He was the only man I looked up to, and still do to this very day. To this very moment. But if he saw me now, I don't think he'd be that pleased with me. In fact, neither am I, but I can learn to adapt to a new personality. And this..." He leaned down, his teeth pricking Desmond's neck lightly yet painfully, "is surely something I could get used to."

He smiled satanically and pulled away, laughing mockingly. "I can get my answers elsewhere."

He slipped off the podium, his arm reverting back to its former state. But when he turned around to give Desmond a glare, those piercing yellow orbs were staring back at him with such bitter hate.

"Watch out, Desmond. And for the rest of you..." He licked his lips slowly. "Keep an eye out. I wouldn't want you to be stuck out in the wilderness all by your lonesome, now would I?"

The cackle that the boy released was sharp enough to stop Desmond's heart for just a brief moment.

* * *

Here we are... In the perspective of the _villain _(did you expect it?). Seth's not the hero this time, and you can suspect that Edward isn't the bad guy. But how would our heroine (for lack of a better term) fit into is? Hell, even _I _don't know, so don't go asking me...

This fic is expected to get a hell of a lot darker. Don't say that I didn't warn you.


	6. V: The World Swam

I hope none of you guys are getting snowed-in like Ohio is. :(

* * *

Being preoccupied was a fairly easy thing to do in Bella's case.

Chores, she noted, were the most basic and time consuming. They kept her mind from thinking of things that weren't so depressing. Just being able to keep busy was enough to keep them at bay. While she knew she had to deal with those ever degrading anxieties sooner or later, she opted to continue her machinations just a little bit longer. To keep herself sane. Surely.

Whether it was something simple or something that took a little more effort, she would do it. That being said, she would eve follow her father's orders to take a job application over to Sam Uley's house instead of him having to come and get it. She knew very well that Sam was busy with culminating a bunch of rowdy teenagers, so bringing over the application was no problem. As long as it kept her engrossed, she would fulfill it.

To the mark, I might add.

* * *

Seth's old truck pulled up to Sam's house with little or no finesse. The same truck rumbled and coughed strangely as it came to a stop. Seth cut the engine and emerged from the driver side, shutting the door behind him. As he looked upon his pack leader's house, he couldn't help but be a little bit grateful that he knew the man. Though, don't get me wrong, he absolutely despised Sam Uley, he knew that he was more experienced and older in the ways of the 'wolf'. Sam knew secrets about the wolves since he had been one longer than any of the current pack members. He would have the answers Seth craved.

Hands placed stubbornly in his jacket pockets, he began his ascent up the driveway and onto the sidewalk leading up to Sam's house. Eyes on his feet, he knocked on the wooden door, scuffing his feet on the mat. While he wasn't nervous of Sam himself, but rather what he would say. Sam, being the leader, was responsible for teaching his pack, but that didn't mean he was allowed to tell them everything. Seth was afraid he may have to force Sam if he didn't give him his answers.

_Strange_, he thought, _that my disposition can change so radically in three days. _

He was terrified of himself.

He was terrified of what he would become.

He was terrified of what he _had _become back at the court. It was irrational for him to react in such a way. To be _violent _was one thing, but to threaten to _kill _someone? That was purely insane. Perhaps he was. Perhaps it wasn't a bad thing.

_What the fuck? _

The door swung open, giving way to Sam himself. He was rubbed at his scruff of a beard, appraising Seth. "Yeah?"

Seth frowned. "And _hello _to you too, sunshine."

Sam didn't seem impressed with his use of sarcasm. "Yeah?" he repeated.

"I have some questions," Seth began, and stopped when Sam waved a hand in the air in annoyance.

"Questions?" he spat. "Clearwater, it's eleven on a _Sunday_. Can't you wait until, I don't know, _one _to bother someone?"

Seth rolled his eyes. "It doesn't matter now. You're here, I'm here, you need to answer my questions."

Sam sighed in resignation. "Okay. Come inside."

He turned and walked back into the house, one hand over his shoulder, beckoning Seth. He followed and shut the door behind him, immediately on Sam's tail. Seth paid little attention to his surroundings. Besides, he didn't feel quite at home in Sam's abode. He felt the opposite.

Sam led him to a round table and gestured to the chair there. He didn't bother asking Seth if he wanted anything to drink or the like. Seth was perfectly fine with that. He was afraid of anything Sam might have given him, seeing as they weren't the best of friends. Seth didn't enjoy poison that well, and he was sure that his body wouldn't either.

"I went to the council two days ago," he began grumpily. "They weren't much help. In fact, they were so aggravating and wouldn't let me even ask anything." He paused, folding his hands together. "They even went so low as to talk shit about my dad. I almost lost it."

Sam didn't reply.

"I wanted to ask them why we were never informed of imprinting." Seth noted that Sam's grip on the cup he was holding tightened ever so slightly, like he was angered. Deciding not to ask, he continued, "I mean, is it a secret? Only those who have it happen to them get to hear about it? It makes me wonder what other stuff we're not told."

"What questions do you have about imprinting?" Sam demanded.

"I'm getting to that, sunshine. Jesus." Seth quipped. "Anyways, the council, _Bly_," he ground out the name like a curse, "they were awfully secretive."

"They value the pack's secret as if they were their own," Sam said, and it sounded like it had been drilled into his mind. "Despite me being the alpha, they are the eyes and the ears of everything that goes on in La Push. Their fathers, their grandfathers, _they _were the ones that fought against the bloodsuckers that used to be around back then. They have the right to be secretive, Seth."

"Why is that, Sam?" Seth retorted. "_None of them _have the curse like we do. Keeping secrets isn't going to do anyone any good. Especially us. Cryptic hints won't get us anywhere besides the opposite direction."

"Maybe none of us, not even _me_, should know all of the pack's secrets. They're protecting us from ourselves."

Seth sneered. "I don't feel very protected. I feel out in the open and vulnerable."

"So did I," Sam responded, eyes having a particular glazed look to them. "But you learn to deal with it. It makes you stronger."

Seth scrunched his nose in annoyance. "Bullshit."

Sam stiffened, head snapping over in Seth's line of sight. He had crossed another line.

"I'll –"

Three knocks resounded on the front door.

Sam's scornful expression remained for a moment before he wiped it off. He left the room to answer the door, leaving Seth to ponder his thoughts.

"Oh, hello Bella," Seth heard Sam say in an upbeat voice. _Such a fucking douche_.

Seth nodded to himself and then blanched. His mind had finally processed Sam's words. _Goddammit; Kid is here. _

He jumped from his seat and exited the kitchen, poking his head around the corner. His eyebrows drooped in something like discontent due to Bella's intrusion on their conversation, but he quickly swiped that away. He was more concerned with finishing his chat with Sam then anything else.

"Sam, can you stop messing around already?" he called. Sam turned and gave him a sharp glare.

"I'm busy, Seth." He turned back to Bella. "Thanks for bringing this, Bella. I'm glad I don't have to make a trek to Forks on a Sunday."

Bella smiled, rolling her eyes a bit. "Yeah, Forks _is_ pretty dull."

Sam nodded. "Well, thank you again for bringing this along."

Seth groaned and stepped around the corner. He halted his stride once he was at Sam's side and looked pointedly at Bella. "Kid here is what I wanted to talk to you about."


	7. VI: House of Lyrics

Maggie's hopped on board with assisting me in writing this junk, so yay for inspiration! (apparently I just called my writing junk... woot)

* * *

Desmond was fifty-one years old. Normally, he wouldn't have really thought about his age, considering his inferiority complex, but it had been brought up rather violently a few days prior.

His emotions were awry.

He hadn't ever felt so low before, not even when his own father died twenty years beforehand. It was just another notch in his mind that he would store for later, though he never got to even think about it. But _this _was different than his father dying. This was directly pointed at him, and he couldn't get it out of his head.

Desmond was horribly imperceptive. Why would he about what happened to others when he was still kicking? Still fighting against those who opposed him, as he normally did. But how can you fight against someone who has the most obvious upper hand?

He hated the boy. Seth Clearwater, the son of Harry Clearwater.

Perhaps he only scorned the boy due to his heritage. If anyone suggested it, it would be right on the money. Desmond had grown up with Harry, though he was two years older than Seth's father. Desmond thought himself clever for always knowing more than Harry did, and took pride in the fact that Harry was just a little kid, _eight_, when they had met. He had completely outsmarted Harry in an instant, and Harry had cried, calling for his mother. (Do eight year olds cry for their mothers still?)

Desmond supposed that's when the inferiority complex began to form.

When Desmond was fourteen and Harry was twelve, the younger boy had hit a growth spurt, and shot up past Desmond. He wasn't all that strong, but did well in sports and his grades, much to Desmond's surprise. He was better than Desmond. That's all there was to it.

He presumed too much. He thought he could win Harry over, but that was most definitely flushed down the drain. Harry had a good head on his shoulders and wouldn't be coerced so easily. That's when Desmond began to actually _hate _him rather then when he just was miffed with him.

The hate was mutual.

Harry passed down his personality to his son, whom was innocent at the time and soaked up all the knowledge and traits without a second thought. But Seth was more of a free spirit than Harry had ever been, and he wasn't ignorant of that fact. Soon enough, Seth and Harry were opposites, one rebelling and the other controlling.

Seth's rebellious state only intensified with time. He figured himself above the rest of the teenage populous, and hell, even some of the adults. The hard-working adults.

None of them worked as hard as Desmond. Well, _he _thought so.

They may work hard, but that didn't mean they were intelligent. The monotony of the American Dream had gotten to them all when they were just adolescents, fueled by the desire to be somebody. Desmond reckoned that they all came from old fashioned parents who still believed that America was going somewhere. Perhaps now they'd see their mistake. Or, even better, would be too inattentive to notice, which was probable. Much more so than realizing their mistakes, surely.

Desmond hated the kid. Hated him more than Harry, more than his wife, more than his godforsaken children, more than his own conscience, more than everything. Seth had to be put in his place, as did all the ones who disobeyed the rules.

If Desmond could look back and see his own mistakes, then perhaps he would know why, in fact, he was put in his place for doing the same thing as Seth Clearwater –

Disobeying.

* * *

Bella hadn't been properly introduced to the boy she met in the forest three days aforementioned. Once she had gotten into the safety of her house, she was greeted by her father, whom was looking uncharacteristically frazzled, as most fathers would be if their daughters disappeared into the forest.

He'd never spoken his name, and she had forgotten to ask him. Given that she wasn't exactly... _right _in the head, it had slipped her mind completely, leaving her to wonder why he had even bothered to lead her back to security.

Granted, she thought the boy was a little... foolish for trusting someone he hadn't really known and found in a forest. But then again, he was a very well-proportioned kid, so she imagined that he really didn't have very many problems. With... the general population.

As soon as they began speaking, she had already begun disliking him.

She didn't like him anymore then than she did now.

"I don't even know your name," she pointed out, crossing her arms over her chest. "So I seriously doubt there's anything I have to do with your questions."

Seth appraised her, giving her imaginary points for her spunk, but was not amused. "All you have to do is listen, Kid."

"Once again, I have nothing to do with you. I'm more than thankful that you helped me the other day – most likely saving my life, but I can't just get into someone else's business when I know that I'm not wanted nor needed."

"Okay, whatever, I _want _you in my business, see?" he said, frowning at how that sentence came out. It sounded so much better in his head.

"No thanks," she shook her head and turned to Sam, "The position will be filled on Thursday, so you better get that filled out and turned in by tomorrow. My dad will be looking through all the applications, no matter how little or in between, so don't forget."

She turned on her heel and left, leaving Seth with narrowed eyes and a seething temper. Sam sighed loudly, patting Seth's shoulder mockingly.

"Good luck with that one."

Seth didn't even bother retorting, as he was halfway across the lawn, following her. He wasn't sure what had made him want to follow her, but it was settling uncomfortably in his mind, its limbs crawling around and adjusting itself. He at first wanted to resolve this feeling, this pulling of strings, but now he found that he enjoyed it. It was thrilling, almost like the hunt. He wanted more of it – more of this sadistic denial. It would only fuel his perspective, as most things did when they were rejected from his less than holy grasp.

It consumed him more than he would like to admit, but it was so savory.

His sinister tongue swiped across his teeth with the utmost approval, though he loathed it. He was being separated by his wants and his needs. They were spread out before him, taunting. He wanted to choose his wants, but knew that common sense had to play a strong factor in this battle. With an almost weary sigh, he stopped his pursuit and turned back to the house.

He was really losing his mind, wasn't he?

* * *

Don't bitch at me cuz the chapters are short. Would you rather have nothing? -initiate 'grr' mode- Oh, that's sexy.


	8. VII: Jack Torrance Shines

"I'm Seth, by the way," he said suddenly, turning around to face her retreating form. Without even looking back, she replied, "If I wanted to know, I would have asked you. What does that say to you, Seth?"

His top teeth clashed violently with his bottom teeth in a painful display of his inner wolf's strength. An invisible hand seized his throbbing mind and squeezed, nearly leaving him breathless. His hands were clenched, nails digging into the hard flesh without an ounce of restraint. He was more than aware of her fragile body, just human without any kind of supernatural assets ground deep into her genetic code. He knew that there was a _difference _between threatening, or by God, _hurting _a man or a woman. Perhaps it was a long, deep driven-in and inky and black kind of chivalry that propelled his fists to his sides, preventing him from retaliating with force.

But he could do it. Within a second, or hell, even less than that. And she would never know, not with her normal perception and lack of instinct (seeing as she was close with that little parasite). Her spine would be easy to snap, barely even a twist of his fingers, clamping onto the membrane and shattering it. He could do it. _He could do it_.

The feeling in her legs would recede, and the pain would set in. She wouldn't know what happened, wouldn't really care, in all honesty, because she would be in such agony. (But, he wondered, would she still feel it if her movement in her legs gone?) He could do it.

His heart began to beat even faster than its original pound, crippling his lungs with feverish intensity. His tongue probed his lower lip, wetting it with his saliva. He blinked quickly, balm setting itself serenely over his eyes. Seth brought his and up, watching the veins caress his skin, feeling the adrenaline, tasting the air without even opening his mouth. His shoulders, taut with the want to pounce, slowly began to ebb, along with the rest of his more primal desires. He regained control of his mind and his senses, rocking on the back of his heels.

"It says that you're a bitch," he responded, a smart smile quirking his dark lips. A metronome kind of thrum pumped up against his chest. "I never would've thought that you'd be one, though," he admitted, "but then again..." His brows raised partially. "You _did _get dumped by that Cullen cunt. 'What does that say to you?'"

She turned and smiled painfully in Seth's opinion. He noticed rather bleakly that one side of her lips raised more than the other side, but immediately shoved that thought away. She tilted her head to one side, her hips moving with the movement, and placed her hands upon them. "It says that you're right. I understand, Seth."

He frowned. "That's not the response I was hoping for."

She suddenly laughed, a soft, quiet kind of laugh. "So I'm finally beginning to get it. You're the bully, right? Not satisfied with what you have so you have to taunt others to get some kind of backwards satisfaction out of it?" She pursed her lips. "Funny – up until very recently, I've felt the same. Seth, I – I... don't be alarmed, but I think this is some kind of divine intervention." She raised her hands to the sky. "By God, let's celebrate!"

Her hands dropped to her sides and she smirked – a full-on, blistering little smirk. Just the sight of it did enough to aggravate Seth, and he stepped forward. "Oh, you're funny," he snapped, "so funny to make fun of God, eh? You're going to Hell, little girl."

She fluttered her eyelashes. "Only if you'll escort me."

He chuckled, finding himself strange for doing so. She had made him laugh. Not very many could do that with his kind of taste in humor. He walked forward more, his confidence bolstering his mindset. He found himself just a foot away from her, regarding her in a calculative, somewhat approving look. He grinned. "Funny." he repeated.

Her head cocked to the side again. "That's obvious, isn't it? But that doesn't matter now. Let me ask a question or two." Without even waiting for his approval (in which he was annoyed), she demanded, "I'm curious; why did you just look like you were about to kill me (_Right on the money, honey, _Seth thought) and now you're all nice. Is someone a tad bipolar?"

He rolled his eyes. "Something like that." He blinked. "Let's just say that I can't control my emotions that well. Most of us on the reservation can't..."

"I see," she mused, a speculative look upon her features (quite plain, in fact). "Doesn't matter, just as long as you know that only the strong-willed can contain those emotions."

"Oh, really? What makes you say that?" he wondered. Another step closer.

"I'm saying that those who aren't that smart can't usually help themselves," she told him, very aware of the proximity of their bodies. Some kind of feral craving swept up her strangely, but she ignored it.

"I see..." he murmured, leaning down, unable to help himself. Her taste was on his tongue, fiery, needy, like animal magnetism.

"What are you doing?" she growled, pushing away from him, the traces of his eyes on her skin. He instantly realized his mistake and shook his head, cursing himself for his lapse in all fucking common sense. His fingers, listless and crawling, played with the loose strings on his jacket in something akin to eight-year-old anxiety. He sneered.

"Nothing."

_His lips are chapped, _Bella thought.

She had been staring at them for too long. It wasn't like she didn't know her own body functions. She knew she was staring at him, yet a human weakness would not let her look away. She banished her abominable behavior and looked away, back to the truck. He followed her gaze and smiled brutishly, practically feeling the hum of her uneasiness. He could smell it in the air, taste it with his tongue, pick it out in a mass of people. There was something different about her, and that would never go away. Her face, her personality, her scent, her _essence _could not fade from his mind no matter what he tried to distract himself with.

What a quandary.

"I'll see you later, Kid," he said, voice evilly soft, like a demonic lull. Her eyes snapped to his, and in that one look, chills erupted up and down her spine, and she felt the scars of their presence tacking at her cord. He wet his lips again.

"Bye," she whispered, hurrying off, leaving him staring after her, a smile creeping up onto his lips.

"What fun." he muttered, just now acknowledging that he had smelled her.

* * *

So I referenced my absolute favorite book, _The Shining_. Bite me. Was shamelessly inspired by Imogen Heap, the best goddamn artist on this fucked-up planet. -Maggie agrees, bitches-


	9. VIII: So Charming

Desmond wished he had better company.

Strike that.

He wished he had _smarter _company.

Being coerced into spending the afternoon with Malek Savst (by his own goddamn wife) wasn't his idea of fun. Rather, he felt as if he wanted to tear his eyes out from the sheer stupidity of the man. Local folk he could deal with, seeing as he had dealt with their utterly abhorrent and ludicrous behavior since he was just a lad. But Savst, an _outsider_, was a little bit different. He hadn't been safely kept under Desmond's thumb throughout his life, and still had some free will (though the government was going to steal that away very soon, regardless). Malek wasn't totally stupid – he knew what kind of backup Desmond controlled, and didn't dare say anything out of line to the man. Seeing as Malek had been kicked out of his own community, he hadn't anywhere to go if La Push forced him out... He was useless, as most people were. But he still had that miniscule amount of brains (wholly limited) and used it as best he could.

Malek was a burly man in Desmond's opinion. Not very tall, stocky, but burly. His features were the equivalent of an ox, and that's just about as far as his intelligence went, too. He didn't have much respect, only getting the position of council member due to his relation to Paul's father, Gregory Savst (some blasted community service twenty years back, but once more, wholly limited). Malek, like six of the twelve council men, were figureheads – not smart enough to make the cut, not dumb enough to be thrown out. They had their uses, the more renown council members agreed, but were not to be included in major decisions. Who knows what they'd fuck up.

"Desmond?" Malek prodded, looking upon his fellow colleague with imbecilic concern. "Ya all right, bud?"

Desmond shut his eyes, bringing his index fingers up to rub his pounding temples. What a headache this man was. "Quite fine, Malek. Thank you." _Of course I'm not fine, you fuckwit!_ _How about you learn to shut the mouth God stupidly gave you and realize that people enjoy quiet! _

Malek nodded, his large, trodden-on-several-times-in-the-past glasses sliding down his narrow hook nose. Desmond wondered if Malek had ever seen a goddamn mirror in his life, as those glasses looked completely ridiculous on him. Desmond's hand went to his own nose, which was swollen and hooked itself from his many years of alcoholism. _At least it's not a beak like his_, Desmond thought in relief.

He had his wife and children to thank for his alcohol consumption. They stressed him when he had wanted to relax, always pushing him to the breaking point, where he'd ultimately lose his temper. He had always fabricated his calm demeanor, and when his wife had sent his anger spiraling, he'd depart for the garage, returning several hours later with a smile on his face and apology written falsely in his shit-colored eyes.

She was far too into her own fairytale to notice his lies or, much more noticeably, the several holes dotting the plaster inside of the garage itself.

But that's blue-collar for you.

"Woah there, Des, I lost ya again!" Malek laughed, pounding a meaty fist down on the table they sat at. That only punctuated the migraine writhing around (which could possibly be a brain tumor, but who knows) in his skull. Desmond kept his hands placed firmly on the table top, fingers twiddling with the place mats. He wanted to strike the man, perhaps even give him a good verbal raping, but decided not to. He needed Malek's assistance when it came to decisions in the court. Malek was like a lost puppy; he'd do anything to please any master he came across, and if blatantly disregarding his responsibilities would do it, then he would. Just to please Desmond. Malek wanted a friend, even though Desmond wasn't a very well-rounded 'friend'.

"Caught me again," Desmond replied weakly, voice edging on a whisper of rage.

"S'pose I did," Malek congratulated himself, "But that's why I'm here, yeah?"

Desmond held back a snarl. "Of course, of course, Malek. That's why you're here." _Insufferable little abortion-mishap. _

His wife, cleverly named Madison, or Mad(the name was bitter on his tongue) barged into the living room, holding two bottled waters in her hands. She set them down, giving a strange eye twitch at her husband that he would later discover to be an attempt at a wink, and departed. Desmond watched her leave, thanking God that she had a tolerable face. If she didn't, then he wouldn't have mistaken her for a nice fuck buddy twenty-three years prior. _I wish I had just left that damn grocery_, he thought with menace, _And if I did, then I wouldn't be in this mess. But I wasn't too perceptive then... I am now, and I wish I could go back and change everything. _

He stared down at the bottled water, holding back a grimace. Mad did not know how long that package of water had been sitting dormant in the basement – she didn't know how many chemicals in the plastic had leaked into the water, leaving it practically undrinkable. He looked up at Malek, who was chugging down the water greedily, and smiled.

Well, Malek was _very _thirsty. If he finished off the pack, maybe he'd get leukemia...

Desmond hoped he did.

* * *

When he lay down in bed much later in the evening, his oblivious wife off into some level of unconsciousness beside him, he stared up at the ceiling. It was some kind of nightly ritual for Desmond to gaze up at the winding patterns on the ceiling, thinking of all his mistakes. It was the opposite of prayer, and often helped him get quite a good rest.

_My mistakes: meeting Harry, meeting Madison, fucking Madison, getting stuck with the kids, forgetting my purpose as a young man, not keeping Sam under my authority which led to Seth's motherfucking insubordination..._

His lids slid shut, and he drifted off.

When he reopened his eyes, everything was pitch black. He first imagined that he hadn't actually fallen asleep, but dozed off instead, but halted those thoughts when he saw a figure at the base of the bed. A woman, he recognized, stood at the edge, arms hanging listlessly at her sides. A shock of black hair covered her head, and it was fraught with tangles and wild disarray.

But that's not what made his heart leap to his throat.

She stared at him with an expressionless face. Her skin (or whatever that horrendous patchy filth that was her face) was crinkled into a more than disturbing grin. Instead of teeth, there was black string where her teeth should have been. Her nose, or lack thereof, was a dark splash of obsidian compared to the rest of her face. As a substitute for eyes, there were huge holes of gaping blackness staring back at him. No eyes to be seen.

She placed one decaying foot on the bed, using her swaying arms to latch herself onto the bed posts. She pulled herself up onto the covers and began walking across the bed till she was standing right above him. His stomach squelched at the smell she omitted. He couldn't describe it and wouldn't even dare to. She raised one decrepit hand and pulled back the left sleeve of the dirty scraps she was wearing, revealing a pasty arm with ink scribbled onto it.

The mouth moved, white bile dribbling down her chin and onto his bedspread. But he did not pay attention to that, rather, his eyes were focused on the writing on her arms. Though almost illegible, he made out a few words, those whom were some that didn't make a lick of sense.

"Conscience?" he questioned aloud, looking up back into the holes where her eyes would have been. She nodded, the grin growing even wider, more of the filth spraying down on him.

"You're going to die."

The voice was grating, rasping, like nails on a chalkboard. Gooseflesh prickled up and down his arms like wildfire. His hands, which were shaking badly, seemed to move to his throat of their own accord, clasping around his fat neck. He began choking, trying to force his hands to retract their death grip.

"So very charming..." she cooed, tracing a white finger across his jawline. He started to gag in reflex, all the while screaming in his mind at his hands. _Get off! For the love of God, get off me! Get off!  
_

"Charming," she chanted, her finger reaching up to his right eye. She opened the lid all the way, cocking her head to the side. She thrust her finger into the socket, not even registering his garbled grunt. She leaned forward, watching the blood soak her finger and pour down his cheek. "The boy," she whispered, her deathly breath making him want to retch if he hadn't been strangling himself, "will kill you. Just like... this." She jammed her finger in farther, stabbing brain matter.

Black spots exploded in his left eye. His right eye thrummed in agony, while his hands retained their fierce grip on his neck, and Desmond died.

* * *

He shot up in bed, vomiting all over the covers, his heart shuddering in his over-packed chest.

"What's wrong?" Mad shrieked, stomping over to the bed from the open door. Desmond, though sick, managed to think, _Well what do you think, woman, that I'm doing this for my own fucking enjoyment?!  
_

His head pulsed in sporadic waves of pain, nearly causing him to pass out. But by force of will, he kept himself awake, not wanting to go back to that woman. Whatever she was, she had sent him a warning, one that he would not forget.

The boy had to be Clearwater. That was the only logical answer. He would be the only one brave enough to kill him, as he had subtly suggested in the court before. But now that Desmond knew, he began concocting a plan. One that would keep him safe, and most likely even ridding the world of Seth Clearwater forever.

Later that day, Desmond sent Malek the entire pack of old, contaminated water, opting that if Malek enjoyed it, then why not share?

* * *

Focusing more on Desmond... Funny story, the woman is actually from one of Maggie's own nightmares. Woot!


	10. IX: Marrow

His pristine white hand came up and pressed to his chest, hoping to feel a beat. Anything, really, would do. Just as long as he felt something thrum against his stony hand.

Nothing did. He expected as much, since he had been immortal for several decades. It was a positively obscene hope that _something_, _anything _would bring the beat back, but he believed in it regardless. One would assume that he was obnoxious, but he didn't think so. They didn't know. They didn't understand.

Perhaps it was a good thing. Monsters – no matter the type in this overzealous fairytale – were dangerous. But she hadn't been afraid of him like she should have. Wherever her instinct and preceptors were, they were obviously flawed. But everyone had imperfections, and he supposed that's what made people beautiful. Not his outward appearance, but the flaws he kept deep in his black and shriveled heart, or whatever was left in his empty chest.

His fingers dug into his cold torso, begging for some kind of response. But there was nothing, as per usual. That only depressed him more. His family thought he would be over it by now; that he'd of forgotten her. His memory was sharp – almost impeccable. Memories stayed whether or not he wanted them to or not. It came with the unfathomable and limitless world before his capable self. He should have been happy to be free of all distractions. He should have learned to appreciate it.

But he did not.

Human weakness was a fragile thing. Any misinterpretation or nudge gave way to the floodgates. It was to be expected from mortals, after all, but he was still shocked that it was happening to him. He knew he had loved her, and still does, but in time he would have thought he could have moved on, leaving all the baggage behind. She would die eventually, leaving him alone, so why was it so hard now, only two weeks after his departure?

He felt heavy – he wasn't himself.

Someone was playing with his heartstrings.

He looked out at the horizon, wondering where the young Dawn's rose-red fingertips were, shining across the sky. After so many years of existence, he had never seen a horizon quite like the one described in the Odyssey. Perchance it was Homer's own wishes for the sun to rise in such a perfect way. Most likely.

One untouched horizon like that would heal his disturbed soul (if he had one). It'd erase all the pain, the unblemished regret, the paradisaical heedlessness – if only for a moment. He could shine as a pure being; one without soreness and evils. Another spiteful hope that he could not accomplish, let alone begin.

Dreams were for the weak, but he wanted to envelop them again. He wanted to be swathed in a dream world with her. He could stay there forever, never leaving, not even attempting to gather the courage to escape it. That was how insecure he was, and yet he embraced it like a forgotten sin. It was his nature – diluted and impoverished. Yet he accepted it with grace, because that was just how he was.

It provided him with a serene back light, one that he wanted to sneak into and stay in. If only he could.

Hopes and dreams, dreams and hopes: weak.

He was beginning to have a difference in opinion opposite of the demon in his head. Whether that was beneficial or not was yet to be perceived.

Edward Cullen stood, watching the sun rise through the sky, fingers aching to touch it. Beams of delightful sunlight shot across his wintry skin, warming it only very slightly. He raised a hand, seeing the forbidden sparkle shatter over his membrane. Hopes and dreams.

Dreams and hopes.

* * *

Seth had an ache in his chest.

It wasn't abnormal for that to happen, seeing as he often pushed his new found endurance harder than he was actually supposed to. But this was different. It was a dull ache, like it wasn't even accredited to be there physically. It throbbed every once in a while, often times when he was alone. It had been coming off and on for the last few days, that then molding into a week, and then two weeks. He assumed he could live with it, but with its steadily growing want, he found himself in a quandary.

He didn't know where it came from (he knew, but didn't want to believe that it was due to that fucking girl). It was a misdemeanor on his part, he knew, but ignored it. It wasn't his lifelong dream to be figured wrong. That would only hurt him in a sense that he would not feel as comfortable.

He was strong-willed. That was blatantly obvious. Any the most idiotic person could see that. He had yet to find a sufficient outlet for his rather unattractive trait, since he found himself knowing that he needed some of it to make his own decisions and stay by his own opinions until proven wrong.

But Seth didn't like to be proven wrong. I think you're aware of that.

The ache pulsed against him, causing him to get to his feet. He found that he couldn't control his legs, as they were leaving his room and his brain behind. Before he knew it, he was sitting in his truck, bumbling down the road. The inevitable roar of need echoed inside, like an animal.

Predatory instincts: how quaint.

He wasn't about to be taken over by ridiculous requests of his own impairment. Forcing himself to think straight, he pulled over to the side of the road, throwing the truck into park. He leaned his head against the steering wheel, hands dropped into limp piles at his thighs.

"Damn it," he cursed, blinking once, twice, again. He surely didn't have an ounce of brain power in his head. That was it. He had to grapple with his inner desires once and for all. He would win, because his more masculine tendencies pressured him to, even if it was against his own subconscious.

Barbaric. Truly.

* * *

For those who haven't heard 1901 by Phoenix (who hasn't?), make sure you do. It fits in well with this chapter, and if I hadn't of heard it, Maggie and I would have been playing WoW like the good little nerds we are (and OMG, i've experienced withdrawal. Haven't played my 80 pally since september!). Off to pillage and plunder, y'know. The whole mess.


	11. X: Watch Them Build Up a Meteor Tower

He had failed. It was simple to admit, simple to say, simple to ponder, but he wished that he didn't have to be dealing with it. He had lost the battle, maybe even the war; victory had eluded him. He was defeated. His own failure had brought him where he was, standing awkwardly in front of the Swan residence, a manilla envelope clutched in his hands. Inside the envelope were various documents, those being Sam's resumé and various other work-related papers. Most likely his recommendations.

He had offered to take it to Chief Swan, mostly due to his desire to quell the restless aching in his chest. He knew what it meant, as there wasn't any other explanation for his wallowing. Due to his sense of pride, he did not want to announce it to himself, but he knew that he was going to lose his essence if he wasn't around her. That's albeit cowardly, but only two people knew, after all. And he wasn't even speaking to Quil; he hadn't been for the last two weeks since their squabble. And Sam, well, he had too hard of a head to even realize things that required more than a second grader's level of perception.

He wanted to hate it. He wanted to agonize over it, maybe even pout. But how could he do that with his instincts in tact, diverting his attention? That'd just be cowardly... _again_. Wasn't he enough of that already? Any more would definitely wound his enlarged ego.

His hand moved and knocked on the wooden door, as the doorbell looked shoddy. He didn't favor getting electrocuted in this weather, werewolf or not. Werewolves weren't immortal no matter what Seth's fellow pack mates claimed. Pain still stung, even in their matured bodies. Hell, in their matured bodies, they were even _more _sensitive to things like that.

Chief Swan, or Charlie Swan, wasn't the nicest of guys. Gruff, cursedly gawky, and a bit lumbering of a man. A strong father, that much Seth knew, but not exactly the _best _father. He hadn't been involved in Bella's life, Seth had learned, and had only been around in her summer visits. But those weren't often, and had most likely even stopped completely. Seth felt mildly bad for Bella. Growing up with only one parent around must have been hard. Like Quil had accused him of before, his life wasn't that hard. It had a few challenges from time to time (does this one count?) but it wasn't difficult. More of an easy-going road, really, excusing Harry's untimely death, but Seth couldn't go back in time to change that.

He wished he could have.

After his teenage transformation had rolled around, Seth grew to hate the man he looked so much like in looks and personality. But Harry's reputation around La Push made it hard for Seth to live up to. He had wanted when he was twelve to be that respected by the town. But he hadn't, as he had gotten in trouble often when he was younger and naïve. It was expected for the child of Harry and Sue Clearwater. Besides, then they had perfect Leah, who hadn't had her heart tromped on repeatedly at the time. Immaculate grades, lots of friends, popular status, her boyfriend being Sam Uley.

Going back in time would have been so great.

He couldn't change his genetics, but he sure could of handled his longing for mischief. He could have found a significant rebuttal to it, perhaps even spending more time with is father.

But those were dreams that couldn't be achieved. He had paved his own way to where he stood today, fumbling nervously in front of a harmless house with a seemingly harmless (not) chief of police residing inside with Seth's object of his affections.

Entertaining the thought of winning over Bella Swan's affections left his stomach uneasy. He did not want to do that, but _needed to_, to satisfy his inner beast. It was sickening.

But he couldn't help it. He would play with the cards he had been dealt, even if it was a bad hand. He could even create some ruckus on the way of his downward spiral (because what else could it be called?). He was okay with that, but knew that his free will was a must. If he didn't have that, then he'd easily resist. He wasn't strong-willed for nothing. He didn't have many talents, but if being an obnoxious smart ass was one, then he'd be all right. Absolutely all right.

Charlie opened the door, eyes probing Seth up and down, landing on the suspicious manilla envelope. Realization dawned on his face, and he quirked a thick eyebrow. "From Sam?" His voice was rough as if he hadn't used it that much. His words were blunt, however, and Seth did not let that go unnoticed. A fresh slice of unhindered annoyance flared in his brain, causing his free hand's fingers to twitch cumbersomely.

"Yeah," Seth replied, holding the envelope out to the older man as he took it. "He asked me if I could deliver it to you. He's got some reservations with Emily, or something." His tone was despicably bitter when he spoke of his cousin. It was outlandish to blame her for his sister's pain, but did anyways. Emily could resist.

So could Bella. She didn't feel the pull of it. Only the wolf.

That thought left Seth with a strange and empty feeling holding court in his chest.

"Emily?" Charlie asked, his thick brows dipping over his dark eyes. "Oh, the girl who was attacked by that bear?"

"That's the one," Seth said, "she's my cousin, so I'd know."

"I'm sorry."

Seth shrugged. "Don't be. It was too bad the bear wasn't put down, y'know?" _Oh_, _how very true_. _If only _I _could put down that bastard_.

"Still, the apology's there." Charlie looked inexplicably awkward. Seth felt sorry for him and his inability to properly converse with normal people. Probably a side-effect of his wife leaving him, and all. It must have sucked to know that Charlie had been replaced by a younger, much more limber man. One still in his _twenties_. Seth was immediately grossed out by the picture. A woman in her early fourties doing it with a twenty-year-old? Saggy skin and a small dick? It made him want to vomit.

Seth's toothy smile gave no clue to what he was thinking. "Thanks, Chief. I'm sure Emily would appreciate that." He paused, daring a glance over the shorter man's shoulder. "Is your daughter home?"

"Why?" Charlie accused, one hand instinctively going to where he usually had his holster. He didn't feel comfortable without his Beretta there, sitting in the worn holster. He usually didn't use the pistol on civilians, but knew that it was better to be safe than sorry.

"I'm concerned," Seth said gravely, "she promised me that she'd call. I was very concerned after I had found her. It's just who I am, sir."

Kiss-ass. "We formed a strange friendship when walking back to your home. When she brought the application to Sam two weeks ago, I was there with him. Let's just say that I've developed a small crush for her, sir." He smiled warmly, falsely. "I have no intention of doing anything obscene, Chief, so you don't have to worry."

"I've seen many boys like you around my town, Seth," Charlie announced seriously, "and they _always _have obscene intentions. Call it testosterone, if you want. But what they want is never just innocent."

"You knew my father, didn't you?" Seth tacked, "so I'm sure that you know I'm a well-mannered man. Oh, excuse me, _boy_. I'd never want to cause problems, sir. My father taught me better than that. And now that he's gone," he gave a professional yet masculine sniff, "I intend to follow his wishes. Harry Clearwater was a good man. A very good man. A godly man."

Charlie softened at the sound of his late-friend's name. He sighed, stepping back from the doorway. "Let's be civil, son. Nothing that would ruin dear Harry's reputation."

"Never," Seth vowed, a hint of a smile on his lips.

"Her room's up the stairs and to the left." Charlie paused. "Keep the door open, will you? It's not that I don't trust you, but one can never be too careful."

Charlie's hand stroked an imaginary holster where his sidearm was usually strapped to.

"Of course."

Seth took to the stairs, hand trailing on the wooden banister. The Cullen's scent was all over the place, lingering with the faint aroma of Bella's own unique smell. Hers would fade more easily, seeing as she was just mortal, but Cullen's would remain. He had marked his territory, all right.

Seth wasn't sure why that disturbed him so much.

His hand clenched around the doorknob. The door creaked open slowly, much like a horror film would. Her room wasn't all that bright, but not dark either. A faint shine of sunlight breaking through the clouds passed her blinds, but then dissolved once the clouds covered the sun again. Seth pushed the door back to the dresser that stood beside it, hands going to his hoodie pockets. Bella looked up from her desk, half-expecting to see her father standing there, but instead was greeted with the rather large form of Seth Clearwater. One delicate eyebrow rose, hitching up on her forehead, but she did not say anything. Seth realized a little too late that she was waiting for him to speak and explain his entrance.

"Nice room," he said, "Anyone with _your _depth would have the exact same one."

Bella was not fazed. "What do you want?"

Seth scoffed. "Nice way to greet a visitor. That's how you talk to your grandmother, isn't it?"

"She's dead."

"Pity," Seth sniffed disdainfully, "Would've liked to meet her so I could tell her what a bitch you are to guests." He entered the room, plopping down on her bed gracelessly. "So lemme guess, Kid, you're doing homework?"

"Mm," she murmured, turning back to the book propped up on a notebook. "No, I just do a bunch of bookwork for the hell of it." She gave him a snarky look. "It's sort of amazing that you say I don't have any depth, while you see me with several high school level things on my agenda and ask me if I'm doing _homework_." She laughed quietly, turning a page in the economics textbook. "But I suppose anyone with your depth would think so."

Seth shrugged nonchalantly. "I don't disagree. I'm aware of my depth perception." He rose, leaning over her, watching her scribble down various sentences with her chicken-scrawl handwriting. "But I'm not a bloodsucker, am I?" The shiver she exhibited made him feel whole again. "Don't have the pristine vision, do I? Bit on the slow side, I admit, but I'm just a big puppy dog anyways. Not a fearsome little kitty."

"So you're a comedian?" she whispered.

His chin was digging in her shoulder now, painfully. "Uh huh. My teachers keep telling me I have a future, but then I just go tell 'em that I want to do stand-up comedy. They aren't so happy when I tell 'em that." He pressed a hand to her right shoulder blade. "Warm?"

She didn't respond, but continued to write.

"Much different than a 'cold one's' touch, isn't it?" he snickered, tracing a finger up and down her flesh (he didn't think that his little game would work as well without her wearing a tank top). "Hot or cold, hmm?"

"I can't tell the difference," she said suddenly, moving away from his touch. "Both are selfish bastards."

"Oh, I don't think so. You come from Arizona, right? You must love the heat. Raw heat is so much better than the cold, huh?"

"I'm used to the cold after being here for so long. I don't think I'd fit in the heat anymore. Besides, I don't even _know _it that well. No tan, see?"

"Can we cut the shitty analogy?" Seth drawled, licking one finger and draping it on a written word. It smudged as he moved his finger, but Bella didn't seem to notice. His other hand rubbed into her shoulder freely, but not roughly.

"Wanna know a secret, Kid?" he wondered quietly, shadowy. "I'll tell you my little secret if you tell me yours... Come on, it's just like 'I'll show you mine if you show me yours'." he teased gently. "Who cares if I know?"

Of course, he already knew. The Cullen family stench was all around her, practically marinating. He found himself wanting her to smell like him. That'd make him happy. It was strange that even his girlfriend's handjobs couldn't equate to the joy he'd feel if Bella smelled like him, _inside _and out.

_It's puberty all over again_, he thought lazily.

"Why don't you leave?" she suggested in a slightly broken voice.

"Oh, why?" he pouted. "Memories resurfacing, Kid? Some things you don't really want to remember? Did he touch you like this? So intimate, so, dare I say it, _loving_? Or did he really not care? Did he even love you?" The last few words were whispered, just barely registering in Bella's ears.

"Get out."

Seth grinned in an all too animalistic way. "Your wish is my command. But I'll be back. I can't seem to stay away."

"Get out." she repeated, not even looking at him. He withdrew his arms and stood to his full height, spine straightened. "Well, okay then. I'll see you... soon."

* * *

Desmond paused, looking over the phone morosely, before picking it up and dialing an unfamiliar number. It rang for a few long seconds, but then the other end picked up.

"Hello, this is Desmond Bly. I have a matter to discuss with you."

The number might have been unfamiliar, but the voice was not. "Oh, is that right? I always have time for you, Desmond. Tell me what's up."

"It's that Seth Clearwater boy," Desmond spat angrily, "He's always disobeying. He never listens to the council, just like his godforsaken father." He paused to catch his breath, heart beating heavily. His pacemaker had yet to regulate the beats.

"He's a nuisance, and I'm afraid that may turn into something much more worse if he isn't tamed. Or _contained_. Whichever is better. Whichever can get the job done. What do you think of that?"

"He hasn't been showing much disobedience lately, but I haven't been around him to really put any proof on it. But I'm sure you would not lie to me, Desmond. We've known each other for two years now. We can trust each other." the man spoke somberly. "I'll talk to him later. When I last saw him he was acting a bit odd, but he had just turned. It may be stress related to the transformation."

"No, no!" Desmond hurriedly denied. "He purposely came to my – _our _council and threatened my life along with the other councilmen!" He struggled to sound alarmed. "He has caused enough damage already! We're fearing for our lives here!"

"All right, all right, Desmond," the man soothed, "I'll help you with whatever you have planned. If he's threatening homicide, then we have to tread carefully and lightly."

Desmond gave a sufficient sigh of thanks. "You are a lifesaver, Sam. Literally."

Sam Uley laughed. "You know me, Desmond."

And then Desmond hung up the phone.

* * *

Tried a different format this time around. I'm sure some of you are noticing some subplots from the original Crossing the Lines, like Sam's deceit and Seth's eventual breaking off from the pack. That's about it for now, loves.


	12. XI: Black Sheep

She'd never been one to brood. Well, that's what she told herself.

Everyone had their ups and downs. It was normal and perfectly natural. She was starting to think her 'downs' were presenting themselves too frequently for her liking. Sure, after Edward's unceremonious abandonment, things were on rough ground. Once again, it was _perfectly natural_. This stuff with Seth, though, was _not _natural. She could not and would not describe her feelings when she saw him in any accurate way.

She had never been a good liar. She supposed that it was just some after-affect of her parents' divorce, since things were bound to leave traces after a while. She wasn't strong and wasn't ashamed of it. Acceptance itself was a difficult thing to grasp for some people who believed themselves to have no flaws. She knew of her flaws, those little divots of inadequacy, sheering off her soul. One more straw on the camel's back could send it all down, but she wasn't going to allow that to happen. Physical strength was one thing, but mental and emotional (coming from a child of divorced parents) strength was another. Didn't she say she never brooded?

Coming to terms with feelings that weren't hers was not brooding, was it? She could not fathom how she suddenly felt this urge to go after a boy she wholly hated. Did something place these frivolous emotions in her head? She knew her 'type' and could send off those who weren't right for her, no matter how little the quantity.

This wasn't something she could control. This was attachment.

A tailspin of sick romance; the bonding of souls; those divots of inadequacy never tasted so bitter.

She prided herself on common sense, something so valuable in such hard times. But she knew when something was up or wrong. She knew that this was not normal no matter the circumstance of imaginary beings. This was different. This was horrible. This was hell.

One without much of a brain would embrace it, perhaps even be the one to instigate it. Inferring to such beliefs was detrimental, perhaps even grungy. But knew it she did, and could not help to worry over it, as was her custom. She envisioned herself falling prey to such godawful qualms, and knew that it was time to stop thinking of herself as a depleted well. She had common sense, remember?

Was that enough?

It would, not by any means, be enough.

It was her fault for getting into this mess. Her fault for allowing herself to fall for something with such a vile background of unadulterated and malevolent corruption.

Could she see herself now, holding onto the hook so delicately placed in her mouth, waiting to swallow it? To pull herself under, falling in love with a dream she never had and a surreal way of living? She couldn't wake up from it, so farewell and good luck to her.

The opportunity to throw away the towel had passed her by without her consent. This was her jail cell.

The slate was stained black.

* * *

A tight smile, one without any shown teeth, permeated her face. Charlie looked up at her from his newspaper, eyebrows lowering in the slightest display of parental affection. She took no notice to this, however, and went straight out the door, backpack slung low on her burdened shoulders. The smile slithered away, tainted with hate. It was only an act for Charlie's sake, though why she even attempted it was beyond her. The man was almost haltingly thick; he'd never suspect a thing. She didn't expect him to either. He was who he was, and she was who she was, and Seth was who he was.

And the earth spun 'round.

The boy was on her mind again, spinning tales of morbid fantasies. Calling out to her, beckoning. Waiting for her lack of control, hoping for a way in. She almost thought that – with her revelation lost behind her – she would allow him in. It almost seemed appealing in a daunting sort of way. What could it hurt? Her pride? That was gone, washed away with Edward's lies, marinating dully in the storm drains.

An ounce of self-respect still quelled inside her, urging her to higher ground where it was safe. Where the monsters could not get her. She felt like she was four years young once again, cuddled up at her father's side in the summer when he hadn't taken up the bottle. When he still had hope. When the doldrums had yet to screech. He would take out some fairy-tale and read it to her with exuberance, giving each character some strange voice to make her restless attention span trap itself in his tones. She would be scared of the villain and burrow herself farther into his side, but then he'd call out the hero's taunts, and listen on in raptness.

This didn't feel like a fairy-tale. This was something much more sinister.

* * *

"So what do you have in mind?" Sam asked the councilman quietly. Desmond held up a finger in the universal 'just a moment' gesture. He had been scrabbling for something good to pin on the boy's disobedience, but couldn't find anything other than the murder threat that Seth hadn't even filled out. He wracked his brain, unable to come up with anything. Who did the boy cherish? His mother? No, no, Desmond still had respect for the woman even if she had birthed the child he hated. He couldn't hurt her, since he had nursed a terrible love for the woman since he had first set his eyes upon her at age eleven. No, no.

The sister? Even if Desmond was a hateful old man, he couldn't use the sister. Sam still felt for her, even if he had wearily denied it. Who did the boy cherish? Who did he –

"Does Seth happen to have a girlfriend, Sam?" Desmond pondered aloud, tapping his chin mockingly. Sam's eyebrows rose, but he didn't reply for a moment. All his thoughts splayed out plainly on his forehead before he nodded slowly, calculating.

"An imprint," he said finally, closing his eyes as if they were dry, "Isabella Swan, the Forks' Chief's daughter."

"A man of the law, huh?" Desmond chuckled. "No matter, no matter. What's his address? I want to ask her some questions."

"What kind of questions?" Sam demanded immediately, fingers digging into his pant legs. Desmond looked on with indifference, mind whirling at a thousand miles a minute.

"Just about Seth. Surely she knows, being close to him and all."

Sam didn't mention that Seth and Bella pretty much hated each other. "She won't be involved with this, will she?"

"Of course not, you delinquent. I just want to question her about Seth to see what his intentions are. It is better to be safe than sorry, Samuel."

Sam cringed. "Yeah, sure."

Desmond turned away abruptly, pulling at his sparse hair. A small grin swept across his lips, and he gave another chuckle that went unnoticed by Sam.

_Don't worry – we saw through your trickery_.

* * *

And... scene! I think I'm getting good at this dark and depressing stuff. Tack that onto my amazing qualities -

-is smothered-


	13. XII: Pray for Heaven's Titans

Bella didn't like the man who sat across from her. Usually, she'd think of herself as a hypocrite and chastise herself for not even getting to know him, but this was different. She first assumed it to be the way his eyes met hers with dangerous and malicious intent, but when she delved deeper into his words, it became clear to her.

He was trying to manipulate her, and he was attempting to be secretive about it. But he was older, wiser most likely, and perhaps that was his idea. To get her to question herself.

She wasn't falling for it.

"You're clever," she said, smiling. Desmond stopped in the middle of his tirade and set a curious look her way that didn't help her confidence at all.

"Why is that, Miss Swan?"

His voice, reedy and cold, made Bella completely sure that she did not trust the man.

"It's funny, you know, that the your response is 'why'. It's a normal thing to say, naturally, but if you truly were you would have accepted it without question."

"I apologize for being standard quality, then," he said easily, but Bella wasn't convinced.

"And then you go and say that. I'm really wondering if you're a legitimate kind of guy. Because most guys or men, in your case, don't go to girl's houses that they've never met before and ask about a boy she hardly knows. Are you truly as witty as you're thinking you are, Desmond? What are you playing at?"

"Nothing," he assured her, "it's just that this boy has been causing trouble back at the homestead. As my position as one of the various councilmen, I wish to discover his purpose."

"So you go to one of his acquaintances, rather than his family." Bella surmised with a sarcastic lilt to her voice. She caught Desmond's hands twitching ever so slightly and stored it away for later evaluation. "But you probably thought that they'd never say he was up to no good, seeing as they _are _family. Going to friends would be useless too, so you come to me when there were several able-bodied law enforcement officers on hand to ask. Very clever. One would even say that you _planned _this from the start, don't you presume?"

"What are you playing at?" she repeated, leaning her elbows on the table. "Just come out and admit it, Bly, because I've already figured you out."

Desmond wet his lips with delicate care, focusing more on controlling his temper instead of beating the girl's head in. "My objectives are my own, Miss Swan."

"Save the bullshit for someone who can stomach it," she rolled her eyes, "like your goddamn council. Or maybe even Sam Uley." She winked. "It's not very subtle, you know, going into the Forks police department and talking to one of the officers that my father had just hired. He watches them to see if he can depend on them when situations become too hot for regular procedures, no matter how infrequent they are in this town. He didn't suspect anything, seeing as he is terribly hard-headed, but he told me about it, and I'm sharper than he is. I know what you're up to."

"Let's cut to the chase, Miss Swan," Desmond spat, "you can just tell me about your goddamn boyfriend before I have to take drastic measures."

Bella raised a thin brow. "'Drastic measures'? What're you going to do, try and hit me? What would that do for your cause, you lunatic? You need information from me, remember? Besides, even if I'm clumsy, I could outrun you any day, seeing as you look a little worse for wear in athleticism." She smirked. "No matter how much I hate Seth, I won't sell him out. Not for you, anyways."

She stood, pointing a finger lazily at the door. "Time to head out, Mister Bly. It was nice talking to you, even if your side of this intellectual feud was lacking. Have a safe drive home, and tell Sam that I appreciate his mental deficiency."

Desmond, fuming, stormed out, hands curled into fists. They were shaking, and his heart was pounding. He clambered into his car and drove off, leaving Bella leaning on the door frame. She had a thoughtful look to her eyes.

"I'm half expecting him to go super saiyan..." she muttered to herself, stepping into the house and closing the door shut.

* * *

When Bella sat down at the lunch table the next day, she didn't expect another body to sit down beside her. It had been foreseen, she imagined, that everyone would stay away from her like she was a bomb about to explode. Shows how much they really thought of her.

But when Mike Newton sat down next to her, she had to hold back a sigh of annoyance. He never did really understand the concept of 'I'm not interested' but she had to cut him some slack. He was actually approaching her, which said a lot compared to the rest of the student body, not that she wanted the attention.

He just had the balls to do it.

"So how are you?" he asked, "I-I... that was a stupid thing to ask. What I meant... was... um, are you okay? You know? I feel like an idiot for not talking to you earlier, but I just thought you needed some time to yourself. To regroup and, er, stuff."

Bella resisted the urge to rub her temples. "I'm fine, Mike. Great, actually. I mean, my ex-boyfriend dumped me in the middle of the woods! Doesn't it make you feel like singing? Does for me."

Mike's brows furrowed. "Hey, I didn't mean anything derogatory by what I said Bella. Can't you just accept that? I'm worried about you."

"I never asked you to be. I don't even think I want you to be." she snapped.

"Well that's too damn bad, isn't it?" Mike replied, "Because I'm going to worry about you whether you like it or not. Listen, Bella, I know you're going through a rough patch. I understand, but I'm not going to let you undergo it alone. I'm your friend, so why can't you just let me help you? No rejections this time."

This time Bella did rub her temples with her fingers, unable to simply send Mike away. He was being very sweet; not like his usual Labrador behavior. Besides, Seth was Seth, and she yearned to be distant from him no matter her heart's contradictions.

"Fine."

* * *

Seth, faraway and utterly oblivious, sat at the edge of the tallest cliff in La Push. A slight ocean breeze tousled his hair and the smell of salt settled in his nostrils. Behind him, a car pulled up, and he heard burdened feet laden the ground. He caught Desmond's musky smell immediately and tried not to show the way his shoulders tightened.

"Hard to find you, isn't it?" Desmond spoke quietly, voice laced with hate, "Just like your father."

"I'm tired of hearing 'your father' this and 'your father' that. I'm not like him. Never was and never will be. He's dead, so let's all drop the subject."

"Touchy, is it now? Good." A meaty hand landed on his shoulder. Seth, unable to simply take it, shrugged the hand off.

"Good to feel grief?" Seth wondered, "I don't think so. Sure, for a while but... I've gotten over it."

Desmond made a sound in the back of his throat. "Have you now? You still don't wonder about him? How it was your fault he died in the first place?"

"It wasn't my fault," Seth clarified, "just the situation. Dad hadn't changed into a wolf, so Leah and I both transforming at the same time messed with his mind and his heart."

"You never think it's your fault?" Desmond taunted, feeling particularly sardonic after his failure with the Swan girl, "I would, Seth. Knowing that my own father died due to what _I _did? I couldn't live with it."

Desmond didn't mention that he had skillfully ended his father's life with one innocent little pillow.

"Good for you," Seth yawned, "But your attempts at guilting me into something won't work. I know how your backwards little mind words inside and out. Even if you did try anything, I'd kill you." He smiled cheekily. "It'd only take one twist of my fingers, Desmond. Doesn't that scare you?"

Desmond smiled. "Not really. If you wanted to, you could have already. We've already established this."

"So we have. Anyways, I'm tired as hell. Goodbye, Desmond. Hopefully that slut wife of yours will have her pants up by the time you get home."

And with that, he left, leaving Desmond looming over a rather tasteful-looking cliff. He knew that fighting with Seth would do no good, so he'd let him get in his petty remarks while he still could. He still had time to get a sufficient amount of dirt on the kid and turn his pack members on him. It would only take a few seeds of doubt to twist those practically brain-dead teenagers to turn against Seth.

All it took was patience.

* * *

The stuff with Mike wasn't planned. Maggie told me to add it in at the last minute, seeing as she has a soft spot for him. My beta's busy, so she couldn't read over this. Mistakes are all mine.


	14. XIII: Paris is Burning

Seth really wasn't expecting her to come over. Perchance it was a dastardly wish of his own subconscious.

It was.

"It's my lucky day," he expressed, "that I get to see your _lovely _face this early in the morning, especially with the mascara smudges around your eyes..."

Bella gave a surreptitious wipe at her eyes before crossing her arms over her chest, surveying him almost threateningly. "So, what did you do?"

Seth stretched his arms high up over his head. "Dunno what you're talking about. Unless you're delusional, then this is all a fantastic little dream brought on by the 'shrooms. What have I told you, Kid? No pickin' plants in the backyard! Don't make me get the bleach! Oh wait... that's what you want, isn't it? To mix it up with that other shit you got from Wal-Mart."

Bella wasn't amused. "Yeah, you're hilarious. But seriously now, tell me what you did."

"_Srsssly_, what did I do?" Seth taunted, "I mean, besides give all the little girls fantasies about my body."

"You're sick," Bella shook her head, "Oh well, then. I suppose I won't tell you about... well, you know already, don't you, smart ass? I'll just be on my way."

Seth reached out from his perch at the steps and grasped her wrist. "C'mon, tell me what's up. I need to know if I should run from the police. No more than usual, I hope."

Bella looked him over again, grimacing at the hand clenched around her wrist. He probably didn't know his strength, but she wasn't going to forgive him for being oblivious about something he should be aware of.

"Why don't you let go? I'm almost positive I'm losing all the circulation in my wrist because of you."

Seth rolled his eyes dramatically. "Don't be such a wimp."

Bella ignored the jab and tore her wrist out of his grip, wringing it out. "A man came over to my house and was asking me about you."

"Okay..." he trailed off, furrowing his brows. He wished she'd just get to the point already and leave him the fuck alone. He was having a splendid morning till she decided to drop by, effectively ruining it for him. She didn't know how much she got under his skin.

"Desmond Bly – do you know him?"

Seth quizzically nodded, but internally he was bristling. Whatever he did, Desmond knew about it. He was trying to blame him for things he didn't do, that much was obvious, but he wasn't exactly sure of Desmond's reasoning. Given, he _did _threaten Desmond with murder, but who knew that Desmond would actually take it to a whole new level. Seth hadn't planned on really killing the old guy, but now it seemed inevitable.

"He told me that you committed some less than holy acts that he didn't like the taste of. Why he came to me I'll never know. How he even found out about me is a mystery in itself."

"What'd you tell him?" Seth demanded, "'cause if you said anything, I swear to God I'll –"

"Settle down. Don't shit your pants just yet.." Bella ordered him. "I didn't tell him anything. Even if I _did _know what you were up to, why the hell would I tell a random man who barged into my house like he was all high and mighty?"

"Well, I guess your stupidity was avoided. This time."

Bella laughed at his expense. "My stupidity? I'm surprised you can even pronounce the word. Looks like repeating second grade so many times actually added something into your vocabulary. High five!"

"Eh, cooties. Repeating second grade like you said added to my vocabulary, but I'm still scarred."

She nodded in understanding. "So that's why you can't get a girlfriend."

"I'll have you know that I _do _have a girlfriend. She knows of my very serious condition." he retorted.

"Yeah, let's go with that. So, your girlfriend – is her name Jane Doe?" she chuckled. "Wait... never mind. Wouldn't want you to get to thinking too hard. Normal brain function is a skyscraper compared to what you can do."

She turned and walked off to her truck. When she reached the truck, she turned around, giving him a wry smile that made his heart flutter strangely. "I've been wondering about what you said the last time we spoke. About the dog comment. Now, it's not my business, but wouldn't you think that should remain a secret? You need all the cover you can get, wolf boy."

Under his breath: "Bitch," then louder, "Says the leech lover. You don't know how to keep secrets either, do you?"

She shrugged. "You wouldn't of figured it out if you didn't have that advanced sense of smell. It's only logical, you know, that you'd have better senses. At least, that's what I'm assuming." She then winked, which didn't do anything for his odd heart. "Watch out for that psychotic old man, why don't you? If you two paired up, you'd most definitely scare the little children around here. Particularly your inner child."

Seth didn't have any response, and watched her drive away with his tongue sewed to the top of his mouth. He couldn't explain why he was so tongue-tied. Couldn't understand the strange fulfillment that one specific organ in his chest funneled throughout his body. He was mildly afraid to delve deeper into what that meant.

He didn't like being wrong. When it was singularly directed at his principles, he _really _didn't like being in the wrong.

"Hey dumb ass, will you go do something useful?" a familiar feminine voice called above him. Grumbling, Seth stood and walking out in front of the house, calling up to his sister who was dangling out of her bedroom window.

"Now this is why random girls can find our house!" he shouted up to her, "'Cause you just yell my name for everyone to hear!"

"Why the fuck are you shouting?" Leah said, amused. "I'm not deaf."

"But you _are _going to be dead in a little bit," he replied.

"In your pussy-filled dreams, little brother," she grinned. She looked behind her, then back to him. "Mom wants you to come help her paint the foyer. Get your ass inside before I drag you in myself."

"Why, Leah, I had no idea you were into incest. Perhaps we should visit a therapist to discover the root of this icky development." he laughed, then shuffled over to the door, mind heavy.

He wanted to know what Desmond was up to, and decided that later he would confront the man himself.


	15. XIV: Ghosts Are Now Waiting For You

Desmond's mental capacity had a limit, like all creatures did. You couldn't continue to learn more, to understand more, when your brain simply couldn't comprehend it. He couldn't figure out why he had a habit of keeping everything he bought and stored it away meticulously in his ranch-style home. He hoarded everything.

There are many reasons for Desmond's subtle insanity, or to be strictly perverse, his inexorable delirium. So many things contribute to the way people are from everything that has happened to them. Any situation is accountable for how people turn out, even if it's grimly subconscious. Desmond's past wasn't a pleasant one, which lead to his troubled adulthood and blandly ocher later years. His father leaving left him scarred, confined to a life with his abusive mother, in which influenced him to his want to retaliate physically for every confrontation. Now, that urge had substantially lessened over his maturing years, but you never forget the ones that hurt you. It's funny how you discount the compliment someone gave to you just a day ago, but remember the grudge you had with a boy in elementary school over a deck of cards.

Desmond had a strong-willed memory that always locked away his most private thoughts but remembered every detail like he'd been there yesterday. He couldn't forgot those who teased him, those who broke him over and over;, those who didn't cease to quit. One always tends to remember. A hateful trait in itself – the ability to never forget. A human flaw.

There are those that follow the rules of humanity, and there are those who don't. There is no in between in barbarianism. Desmond learned that the hard way. The difficult path everyone was too cowardly to embark upon because they were too afraid of the outcome. Too afraid to leave their childhood behind to take the leap of faith into the real world. They didn't, and so they perished. Desmond took his chances, played his cards right, and looked forward to auspicious dreams.

It's even more funny that after you beat that one bully in a card-game, you never forget it. Was it your best victory? No. Are you entirely proud of it? No. You lost yourself in the game and wouldn't stop until you won. How does that make you feel? What does that do to your self-confidence. Burdens are meant for those who are capable to take them atop their burning backs.

Could you?

Desmond raised a wrinkled hand to stroke the wooden armrest of his decrepit rocking chair, remembering when his mother had rocked him in it after she'd drunk herself raw and listless. Her incoherent babble hadn't bothered him much when he was so young; he thought that was just how Mommy was, and those who didn't understand could get the fuck out. 'They' made fun of him incessantly for his mother's inability to pull herself together after his father's death, which the Blys heard about six months after it had occurred. Mother Bly never recovered, and Desmond never mentioned it. Not to Madison, not to his children, not to himself.

Memories hurt too badly, anyways.

He pulled his hand away abruptly, watching it shrivel and drop to his side. These memories were not for him. They were meant to be sacred and untouched. He wouldn't be the one to break that silent promise. Not now.

A harsh knock erupted from down the hall. Desmond took his time into ambling into the foyer and opening the door. He really wasn't in the mood for any company. The door stood ajar, and he looked up into the crude eyes of Seth Clearwater. He resisted to clear his throat in nervousness, deeming the action insecure and embarrassing.

"There had better be a sufficient reason as to why you're standing on my doorstep, Clearwater." he said finally, blinking slowly, tightly.

Seth tilted his head to the side in an unassuming manner, and he didn't seem to be quite aware of it, anyways. "A justifiable reason, yes," he replied just as coldly as Desmond had. His hands went to his pockets as his posture loosened slightly, as if he were comfortable in the older man's presence. That only fueled Desmond's desperate hate for the child.

"I know it's not my business asking you what you do in your day, but when it concerns... my acquaintances, I think I've got some say in where you shouldn't be able to go." He didn't breathe once in his conclusion, angering Desmond further.

"So you have the right to tell me where I can and cannot go when it involves those who you know? Clearwater, I'm sure you're aware of the local and stately legal body, the _police_ and the courts, but you can't and won't order me around as if you have the authority to do so." Desmond took in a calming breath to ease the restless stuttering of his pacemaker. "Moreover, I will not listen to the useless babbling of a child on the matter at hand."

He went to shut the door, but Seth's hand blocked the door from hitting its target. An uneasy smile swept its way onto the teen's face, setting a deep, unusual fear in Desmond's stomach.

"All right, you can spew all of your logical shit as long and as much as you want. I don't care about that... No, I have a better idea." His smile grew wider, giving way to white and sharp canines. "I'm going to tell you what to do, and the police won't be able to do a thing about it. No one you call can help you when it includes me." His hand around the door curled in, splintering the door where his hand was placed. "I'd kill you before you even got the 'nine' in on 'nine-one-one', Bly. And don't even try to get the _courts _involved in on this. That'll only get you sent into an insane asylum for claiming a harmless teenager is a werewolf in disguise." He cocked his head further, almost to an extreme angle. It looked painful.

"And the pack wouldn't help you either," he whispered, swiping his tongue over his piercing teeth. Desmond stood his ground, knowing Seth was simply playing with him now. He was attempting to get Desmond to spill his secrets and plans. Too bad Desmond had far too many years on Seth to be judged inadequate.

"You're trying to be clever now," Desmond said tactlessly, "And I don't much appreciate your attempts. At least honor the art and come up with a more discrete way of 'breaking' it to me. I'll have you know that any malicious intent towards myself, the second chairman to the La Push Council, is considered treason. How does that sound?" He was bluffing.

Seth knew.

"Oh, how cool," he grinned, "a _threat_. Maybe even a good one! But it doesn't faze me. Nah, Bly, I've said it before and I'll say it again, I could kill you right now and you wouldn't even know it. You'd be sitting in a flame-encrusted parlor in hell before you realized you were dead."

"Then why don't you?" Desmond spat back with equal malice, unable to fathom the boy's train of thought. Seth ran his tongue over his teeth again. He leaned down, nearly breathing straight into the elderly man's face, and spoke, "You've said that before. I almost think you're expecting me to do it. Well, I'll make sure I give you a fair warning ahead of time."

He paused, took a deep breath, and blew it out. "I'm going to break your arm now."

With lighting fast speed, his hand around the door threw the piece of wood back with a thunderous impact, shattering the grains against the wall. His free, unobstructed hand brought up with balanced dexterity, came to a head and snapped the equilibrium of Desmond's left arm. Desmond didn't feel it for a second.

But then he did.


	16. XV: Bombshock

**Oi, this chapter's graphic. Don't let your cat see it.**

* * *

It took a moment for it to set in. It wasn't an unrealistic kind of pain; no, Desmond was all too familiar with that type of agony. So, mildly, he expected it.

What he didn't expect was for it to come on so suddenly. The snap of the bone itself was enough to shock him, but the actual feeling... it was indescribable. His arm lay limp at his side, unmoving. He convulsed sharply, seeming to gag, and then vomited all over the wall and ground. Seth, eyes widening at the man's quickly changing posture, leaped out of the way, the smell like bleach burning his sensitive nostrils. As he skidded to a stop a few feet back, he felt his own stomach roll uncomfortably, but willed himself to keep his composure.

"You little fucker," he cursed.

Desmond fell to his knees, gurgling noises quelching in the back of his throat. Under his form was slick, clear bile, and he had trouble keeping his balance with it coating his knees and good arm. He still could not think straight. He almost didn't want to if it met sustaining himself in consciousness.

"Desmond!" Madison shrilly called from wherever she had stationed herself in the house. As she came blundering over, she took in the sight before her. Her husband was simmering in his own filth with a virtually useless arm while a boy stood out in front of the house, his figurative hackles raised like pinpricks.

"Desmond," she said quietly, but something came to a head in Seth's mind. She was a witness.

And he knew what to do with witnesses.

* * *

Desmond Bly was a clean-cut and crisp worker bee, his desires the equivalent of his quotas. He didn't have much leniency in his meager existence. No one had ever pressured him to do anything; no one had ever influenced him in his life. It was sad, really, that he had no one. But all bad men, no matter their humble beginnings, deserved to die.

Dying wasn't on Desmond's mind that day as he stopped into the supermarket to pick up a few groceries. Harry, his younger companion, stood amiably by his side, looking handsome and unhindered. He had a smile on his face, one that made his dimples stand out and attract attention.

A bachelor. The word was foul on Desmond's tongue.

"Do you have to read every individual label, Des?" Harry demanded impatiently, crossing his arms over his semi-toned chest. Desmond looked nonplussed.

"I'm allergic to a copious amount of things, Harry," Desmond replied in his then-soft and somewhat desirable voice. "So I have to read every label. Besides, I'm sure it will do wonders for your gut there." His eyebrows dipped an inch at Harry's invisible body fat, but it was enough to get Harry started into a temperate fit. The boy just shrugged and muttered out of the side of his mouth, something very similar to the way his future son would.

But his muttering stopped, as his eyes got a lustful tint to them. Desmond looked up at his associate's unusual silence and could practically feel his own eyes darken at the sight of Susan Wilder, a little Christian girl Harry had his eyes on since middle school. But Desmond had also been seriously interested in the girl, even more so than Harry.

Love was a frivolous concept. Harry didn't understand it. Desmond didn't either. He couldn't fathom giving yourself wholly and equally to another person to intrust your deepest emotions in and expect them not to tromp all over them like a fucking elephant. No... Desmond didn't believe in love. There's a difference between love and attraction. Frankly, attraction was the only thing that existed. Meaningless emotions were weak, and he would not be coerced into caring for someone he did not give a damn about. Attraction... love...

He didn't know what it was for Susan. For her, everything was goddamn white noise.

"I've tried talking to her recently," Harry spoke out of the corner of his mouth, as if it was secretive. "She's... a little stand-offish, you know, since my brother had vandalized her house after he got toasted. But... she knows I'm not like that. At least, I hope she does." He took in a deep breath to compose himself. "I'm going to talk to her this once and see if I don't make a fool out of myself. You know how I am."

_I know how you are all right, _Desmond thought angrily, _You're a motherfucking twat with no moral values._

Those would soon vanish for Desmond.

But he did not want to be outdone that day at the supermarket. Didn't want to seem like the tag along little brother he usually felt like when he was around Harry, even though it was ridiculous. A deep and driven in feeling of inadequacy pressured him to do what he did. A submerged, uncharacteristic emotion brought him to the breaking point.

He didn't look back. Instead, he dropped the item he was holding and marched over to Madison Lee, took her face into his hands roughly and forced his tongue into her mouth, not caring that she instinctively wrapped her arms around him and squeezed. He didn't care.

And so he fell into a deep, dark abyss.

* * *

A shattering, ear-splitting crack reverberated in Seth's eardrums. His heart hammered in his chest as he yanked his hand away from Madison's flimsy neck. The woman in question began to asphyxiate, clawing with her hands in the open air as if God himself was going to come down and save her. There were no miracles for Madison Bly that day, and there never would be again.

She fell to the ground, spewing out nonsense as she tried to breathe properly. Seth tried to cover his ears to ignore the last gallops of Madison's heart, but he couldn't block it out. The thumping continued to slow and slow and slow and she kept trying to breathe and breathe and breathe -

"_Stop it you fucking bitch_!" he heard himself scream as he threw himself onto her writhing body. "_Be quiet_!_ Shut your fucking mouth or I'll do it for you_!" He shoved his fist into her mouth roughly, pleading that she would stop, that she would die, that she would stop... And she did, but it was a slow process. Gradually, gradually, gradually, she died. Slowly, oh God, so slowly, Jesus Christ, she died so slowly...

Desmond had lost all control of his muscles and opted to just lay in his own vomit, deciding that dying was all he wanted to do now. In his peripheral vision, he saw Seth rock his overly large body like he was seizing, but he knew the boy was too healthy for that. Also in his peripherals, Madison lay motionless.

And he enjoyed the sight.

Is it coincidental that his last coherent thought was of his delight in the fact that his wife was dead?

Not really.

What was it like to go insane? Seth had never experienced it before in such a shockwave. Before, yes, he felt maniacal after what he had done in the courtroom. But this was so different; a complete one-eighty. Why in all that was good and holy did he enjoy this sensation? Why did he feel a slight twinge in his balls? Excitement? No... Yes... Maybe.

Insanity tasted like sugar.

He turned his head slightly and his eyes landed on Desmond's motionless body. His chest wasn't moving. Seth reached out and felt for the elder man's pulse. His skin was still warm, but the pulse had long since faded. A divine kind of satisfaction settled deep in Seth's chest, and he knew right then and there that he was going to Hell. Well, if there _was _a hell. He imagined that if God was so mighty, he would have stricken Seth down by now. It all seemed so fabricated. The lies, his lies, His lies, they were so tart to the tongue.

Everything had a unique flavor nowadays.

And through some sick, twisted strings of upheaval, Seth was vaguely hungry.

* * *

I warned you.

For Demi, my cousin. Hope your engagement to Amy goes smoothly and you know that you both are mah gays. (Awaits for your txt because I KNOW you read this!) And you, the other readers, are wondering, 'Why the FUCK would she dedicate this disgusting chapter to her cousin?!', it's because I like penises. Fuckin' duh. (Lololololol)

I just realized I'm a tad bit crazed. Initiate... DOOOOOOOM!


	17. Another Impression Post? Holy Hell!

Aha, so you're all still reading my utter sadistic crack fic? And those who know me from previous encounters (wink wink, you sexy little beasts, round two), I adore the Seth in this story. Bombshock is my most favored chapters of my fics, and I couldn't help myself but fall in love with it as soon as I concocted it and typed it out. And you think I'm possessed by some sort of demon, correct? Is it not natural to be privy to one's imagination? To fall full-heartedly?

If you'd like to know why I even considered this fic, you'd have to go deeper into the recesses of my mind to understand why I fawn over it. Quite honestly, the entire reason for Crossing the Lines and Impression were borne of my senseless self-depreciation – my want for something grand and spectacular, because while I lie... A LOT, I'm not when I say that I crave others opinions of my writing style and writing pieces. Like most are, we are so totally insecure that we must feed off of what other people think, and for most of you who have read my past stories, I come off with an air of serendipity. I. Don't. Give. A. Fuck.

But how can I truly say that with all my heart and, god forbid, my _soul_, when I know that it is untrue? Sheer insecurity that you all have experienced, thought as naught, and will surely scoff at as soon as you read this. You are not insecure.

But you are, don't try to lie. :)

Seth Clearwater in Crossing the Lines was my innocence's first steps in downfall. When it was first posted, I did not give much about who I was or how I acted. I remember. But once again – innocence. Over time, if you followed me, you would see my personality come out in my stories with a righteous vengeance. And I still remember (let's hope I don't, I'm only fifteen for God's sake! Forgetfulness at such a tender age, how quaint).

And while I cannot help your (teamLEAHcuzsheshott) dislike in my altercation of Seth's personality, his mannerisms, his entire fictional world, I can only say that there is nothing that I can change about it. Crossing the Lines was a failure, a misdirection, something that I want to wipe from my slate. While I wrote it, I hated it. I only perused it for laughter's sake and posted it because it made people happy. But there is no point in reposting it when it is the bane of my existence. It was a cautionary fic, an opener, to the flood of other shit I've posted with true spite. In good conscience, I cannot rewrite it, cannot _endure _it, when I have Impression's finished copy sitting in my harddrive.

When I reread it, I am happy. I suppose that's all that matters when it boils down to it.

I hope that you enjoyed reading my unstoppable thought process. I'm sure there are those who will respond to this with vigor, calling me several other ridiculing names, cursing my fingers, arguing with my logic, demanding my attention for more writing, heatedly denying what I've claimed, wondering why I even bothered to rant here, and various others.

That's all right. I think this is all in good fun, so your replies will most definitely amuse me.

Feel free to insult me. They give me the giggles.

Much love, hope you rot.

-Taylor

(CRAZY ASS BITCH, FUCK YOU AND YOUR DOG!) That's a post I'm waiting for. LMFAO.

And I wonder how many mistakes are in this. I didn't even reread it.


End file.
